Us and Them
by Drago Van Hellsin
Summary: Another Pon Farr story; established relationship. Professor Spock becomes First Officer Spock on the Starship Enterprise. Can he and the Captain keep their cool through their first Diplomatic mission when transported into the 1860's? Kirk/Spock Kirk/Bones


**Disclaimer: **_Unfortunately, I do not own these characters, Gene Roddenberry does. But the minute they go on sale, I plan on bidding!_

_**A Long One-Shot! **This is another Spirk story, so if you're uncomfortable with strong male-on-male scenes, turn back now! Don't say that I didn't warn you! And please, this is my first fanfiction. Criticism is welcome when constructive! Please no flaming! D=_

_But for all those Spirk lovers out there, enjoy! Please Review, they're welcome!  
_

* * *

**Us and Them**

Jim gasped and panted, holding Spock close in the spray of the shower. "Oh God, Spock…" He rasped, pressing the Vulcan up against the shower wall. Spock's arms tightened around Jim, each breathing heavily.

Jim drew back, slicking his fingers through his hair. Spock's own hair was tousled, "Heh, you have sex hair." Jim grinned.

Spock flushed emerald, picking up the bar of soap and cleaning the cum off his stomach. Jim cleaned off in the shower spray, smiling as Spock ran the soap over his back and shoulders.

"_Mmm_…wanna take a little nap before dinner?"

"I would not be adverse to some rest." Spock agreed.

Jim turned, running his hands up over Spock's chest. He kissed his lips softly, holding Spock's hips. Spock reached behind Jim and turned off the water. Jim retrieved a towel and wrapped it around Spock's shoulders, pulling him close and kissing his neck.

"Jim-"

"Alright, alright…" Jim chuckled, getting a towel for himself and drying off, stepping out into the fresher.

Jim picked up Spock's comb and tidied his hair, turning and handing the comb to Spock.

As Spock finished in the fresher, Jim wandered across the hall to the bedroom and dropped his towel, sliding into bed.

Spock arched a brow at Jim's nakedness.

"Hope you don't mind." Jim smiled, lifting one side of the blankets for Spock to join him.

Spock slipped under the sheets and lay on his side, skimming his fingertips along Jim's chin and jaw.

"_Hmmn_…" Jim smiled, draping an arm over Spock's side, turning his head and kissing the Vulcan's fingertips, making him gasp and draw his fingers back.

"Heh, sorry." Jim grinned, snuggling closer, grazing his digits down Spock's spine. The Vulcan made a soft sound of satisfaction. "Does that feel good?" Jim tilted his head to look at Spock.

"Your skin is cooler than mine." Spock replied.

Jim let his hand glide up to the back of Spock's neck, scratching his nails against the base of his scalp.

"_Mn._" Spock brought his touch-sensitive fingers to Jim's face, brushing his p.s.i. points.

Shuddering, Jim looked at Spock with wide eyes, "Woah…what was that?" He'd felt a significant charge pass between Spock's fingertips and his face.

Jim took Spock's hand and pressed it to his face again, disappointed when nothing happened.

"These," Spock shifted his fingers to press against Jim's face, "are your meld points. Your p.s.i. zones."

"Oh yeah?" Jim blinked and Spock watched as his eyes widened and his jaw went slack. "Holy shit…" He grinned.

"My mind to your mind…" Jim's brows rose, "My thoughts to your thoughts." Spock finished.

Jim trembled a little, his hand slipping off Spock's wrist.

'_Now we are one.'_

"W-Wait, how can I hear what you say but you haven't spoken?" Jim blinked.

'_Because our minds are one.'_

"Oh…so you know what I'm going to say before I even say it? Hey, can you talk through my mouth?"

'_You do not need to speak aloud, Jim.'_

'_Okay, sorry. How's my head look from in there?'_

Jim lounged out on Professor Spock's bed, eyes closed, hands behind her head. Blue glass eyes opened when the apartment door closed out in the hallway. A briefcase was set on the floor and heeled boots clacked on the obsidian stone floor, ending with the carpet.

And there he stood, "Hey."

Spock, already paused in the doorway to his bedroom; blinked. "Have we been acquainted?"

Jim's face fell, "I knew Uhura was wrong… I knew you wouldn't recognize me."

Spock set his data pad down on the table just inside the room without taking his eyes off this stranger.

* * *

Jim

He looked at me like I was some intruder or something… which would make sense if I were a stranger. "It's me…Jim."

Spock's brow made that little twitch upward. "The James Kirk I am familiar with is of the male variety. You are female." He finally turned his back to me, picking up the comforter I'd shoved off the end of the bed during my nap; a quilt of Vulcan weave.

"Well…it's a long story."

Spock

I glanced at this woman, wondering how she gained access to my apartments. But then I saw her pinch the bridge of her nose, sliding her fingers over to her temple. I've watched Jim perform this habit while he studies.

Placing my mother's quilt on the end of my bed, I approach the imposter as she sits up, swinging her legs down to the floor, her skirt hiking up about her thighs immodestly.

"It's a form of chromosomal distortion. I got exposed to some rare form of radiation tri-corders didn't pick up when we got back from the Nero incident. It only chose now to manifest itself." 'Jim' plucked at the front of the Orion wrap skirt she wore, a low plunge in the neckline exposing one side of her milky-white breast. Of course, I only noticed this objectively. "Would you mind if I," holding up my hand, I raise it to the woman's face, "a mind-meld?"

When granted permission, I place my fingers at the p.s.i. meld points upon her face, curling my thumb to her jaw line. "My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts."

Her blue eyes became distant, looking through me instead of at me.

"Jim…Kirk?" I flip through his current memories, scanning through like a picture book.

"Yes…" Her soft voice was pitched higher aloud than in her mind, where Jim's original voice replied.

I withdraw from her, my questions answered through contact in the meld. The echoes of Jim's thoughts still leave a film over my mind like sweat on a hot day.

Jim

Blinking, I look up at Spock, who looks like he's just discovered an interesting specimen; me. "Well, now that you believe me, would you mind if I took a shower? I spent the first half of my day being poked, prodded, x-rayed and examined down in the medical bay."

I don't even wait for Spock to reply before wandering off to the 'fresher.

Stupid, emotions run so much higher in women. I nearly broke down into sobs of frustration when the door slid shut. Another annoying thing: when Spock would even just look at me I would get hard.

Now, I just get wet like a leaky faucet. It's so irritating.

God, I even shaved my legs… with the guidance of Uhura, who has sort of taken me on as a sort of 'crash course to girls' student of hers. I've got so many cuts on my legs and don't even get me started on the underarms.

Washing my face, I grasp the edge of the counter and grown, closing my eyes and crouching down in my towel, the water still running.

A knock on the door startles me into standing up quickly, dropping my towel as my head spins.

"Jim, are you well?" Spock's deep, rich voice even makes me shudder when filtered through a 'fresher door.

"Y-Yeah, I'm…" Stumbling, I crouch down again and moan, trying to make my eyes focus and my head clear.

Spock

The sense of vertigo strengthens and I make a rash decision, keying the override code into my bathroom door. Reacting with Starfleet precision, I am unfazed by Jim's nakedness, a new sight as he is currently female.

Pulling her up from the floor, I lift Jim into my arms and carry her out of the 'fresher, quickly returning to shut the water in the sink off. Picking up her discarded towel, I hung it out to dry.

Jim

It's like my head is weighed down at the forehead and neck. It takes too much effort to lift my head from the pillow, my eyelids heavier than a matter-antimatter pod. Or a warp nacelle.

Spock's sheets are soft…softer than mine.

"_Nnh_…" Wait, how long has he been standing there over me?

"I will call the medical bay." Spock pulls out his communicator and I make a clumsy grab for it.

"N-no… I'm just dizzy, they took a lot of blood samples from me. Please, I don't want to be poked and prodded again. I came here to get away from my hypo-wielding roommate. Please… don't call them." I realize I was babbling but it was like I was listening to myself from down a long tunnel.

"I just… want to sleep." Sighing, I close my eyes.

Spock

I wouldn't call it terror, but a fair amount of aversion comes through to me from Jim, enough to convince me to put my communicator away. "Very well, but if your condition worsens, I will be forced to forego your wishes."

"Fine, fine." Jim mutters, curling up onto her side. "_Mn_…it's so warm in your apartment."

I wonder if Jim is even aware of her words any longer. Normally, I would spend the rest of my evening organizing my lecture for tomorrow and making my evening meal. But Jim's arrival always seems to shuffle my schedule.

Instead, I opt to keep my attention on Jim's condition, pulling a chair up towards the bed but abandoning it when Jim protests.

"What're you doing? Won't lay with me because I'm a girl?"

"Certainly not, Jim." I find his reasoning rather illogical, but more so than usual.

Removing my uniform, I sit on the edge of the bed and pull off my Starfleet issued boots.

Jim

I make the effort to smile when Spock relents to my whims. I know I'm probably intruding and Spock would rather be doing something else but was stuck, instead, playing nurse.

When the thin Vulcan lays down, I can't help but cozy up close to him. He's like my own personal heater, only he hugs back.

Resting my head on his shoulder, I lay like I always do with one arm across his torso and a leg intertwined with his.

Spock

Jim coils herself in the customary position she can relax in, only adding more concrete evidence that this is, indeed, Jim. My arm stretches automatically, encompassing Jim, sliding my fingers down her spine. She smells of my soaps. Turning my head, I watch as Jim's eyes blink lazily, and eventually cease opening again. Her hair… it is the same Starfleet regulation length, but the luster has changed. I run my fingers through it, admittedly fascinated.

I do not require rest; however, I do lapse into meditation, Jim's naked body pressed into my side. Her skin is cool beneath my fingertips.

Reviewing the events of the day, I become engrossed in sorting my memories from those I gleaned from Jim's mind.

So, illogically, I am startled when Jim's female cadence interrupts my reflections.

"Bones told me about the mind-melds Vulcans do once, so I wasn't all that surprised with it. I mean…it was kind of a weird experience. I could feel you messing through my head." Jim muttered, her head shifting on my shoulder.

"How much did he tell you?" My question must have carried some inflection of emotion left over from being startled by her intrusion that she gleaned.

"What… is it taboo or something?" She craned her neck to look at me, but for what reason, I do not know form my features are carefully neutral at this moment. I do not reply, which must have worried Jim for she sat up to look at me directly.

"Is it bad that I know?" She ran a hand through her tangled, wet hair.

"No, certainly not Jim, it is rather common knowledge."

"Then what's wrong? It seems there's something I'm missing." She looked suspicious. "Is it something to do with the bonding ritual?"

I was speechless… the bonding and mating rituals of Vulcans were not known outside of Vulcan, now only known to the few remaining survivors we had managed to save during the Nero incident. How could Jim know of this?

Jim

I watched as his eyes grew wide, a green flush spreading from one pointed ear to the other. It was cute… but I didn't know if he was angry or just shocked.

"What, something I said?" Blinking, I gasp as Spock suddenly grasps my upper arm, sitting up and moving so close to me that I was practically in his lap. I've never seen¾well, I take that back. This is the second time I've seen Spock provoked into an emotional response due to my words. But this time wasn't on purpose, I swear.

"Woah, ouch, you're hurting me Spock." I try and loosen his grip on my arm.

"What do you know and how did you learn it?" He released my arm after speaking like an interrogator, but put his hand down firmly on my knee as if he was afraid I would bolt or something.

"I told you… I learned everything from Bones." My throat is dry and my eyes are still wide with wonder at his reaction.

I watch as his shoulders relax and his face closes down like an airlock¾completely blank but colder than before.

"Spock? I-"

"And where did the doctor get his information?" He startles me with another rapid fire question.

"Um…Oh! He said he made a new friend at the academy." I snap my fingers. "Since I'm not hanging out with him much, he got a new buddy." Rolling my eyes, I try and remember the guy's name, squinting, "Doctor…Venga? Something strange like that."

"Doctor M'Benga?" Spock's brow arched at me.

"Yeah, that's it." I frown, "How do you know him?"

"He is my physician."

"Oh." Hell of an awkward turn out…

Spock

This makes some logical sense now. Doctor M'Benga studied on Vulcan and is more acquainted with Vulcan anatomy than Terran. He must have been off-planet when the Nero incident took place. But why would the doctor disclose private knowledge to a Terran cadet? That is a serious breech of patient-doctor confidentiality.

"What is the extent of your knowledge on Vulcan bonding, Jim?"

"Hey, wait, don't turn all computer on me, Spock. I'm an innocent third party here." Jim's brows scrunched together on her forehead.

I simply waited, brow arched.

"Well… Bones told me that two Vulcans can forage a permanent 'mind link,' or something like that." Jim waves her hand in dismissal. "He told me that all Vulcans go through a mating disorder every seven years or so."

I feel myself stiffen. M'Benga told a Terran about Pon Farr? Jim noted my reaction and put her hand over mine upon her knee.

"Spock? You're scaring me… what's wrong with me knowing this?"

"It is… of a personal nature in a Vulcan's life. We do not even speak of it amongst ourselves."

"Ever?" Jim's eyes widen.

"Only when deemed necessary."

"Oh." Another awkward grimace, "Well… it's kind of too late now."

"Indeed."

"So…have you gone through… you know, the disorder yet?" Jim fidgeted.

"It is called Pon Farr." I accept that this discussion was going to happen at some point, so why not now? Both myself and my parents had worried I would not find a mate before the blood fever came upon me, but perhaps all for not now.

"Okay." She waited, looking at me expectantly, finally splaying her hands when I did not speak, "Well, have you?"

"Because I am half-Vulcan, my genetic make-up effects my biological functions."

Jim pressed her head into her hands, "Spock, yes or no answer will suffice."

Vulcans do not lie, but I considered it at this time. But what would I gain from being dishonest? Perhaps relief from questions ensuing, but that is unlikely. After all, we are talking about Jim, male or not.

"No." I look away, illogically finding embarrassment heating my face.

"Now?" Jim frowned, counting aloud in a murmured voice, "But you're twenty-three in Earth years. Wouldn't you have had it by now since you matured?"

"My levels of hormonal-"

"I don't need the medical rundown Spock, sorry I asked." She chuckled. "What happens to you in Pon Farr?"

I remain silent, preferring not to discuss it any longer.

Thirteen weeks has passed since this conversation took place…

* * *

Jim

It's amazing, having my body back. Bones is a genius. All it took was old-fashioned cures like radiation. And a three-hour surgery… Where's Spock?

I raise my hand and the uniformed substitute professor calls on me, "Uh…where's Professor Spock?" It seemed like I'd just seen him two days ago as a woman, and I was looking forward to surprising him with my normal self. Did he have another emergency mission and failed to tell me he was leaving again?

I felt frustration making my chest tighten. I was furious! If he had ditched me like that again, I swear- Well… I don't know what I'd do, but it wouldn't be all for shits and giggles.

"Professor Spock took the week off." The sub. explained, "Now class-"

I zoned out at that point. You know, I really don't have to be here. My grades are perfect and I'm getting Captain Pike's ship after graduation no matter what, so… screw this shit.

"I'll see ya." I murmur to Bones as I gather my stuff.

"What?" Bones stared, "You can't just walk out." He hissed at me.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He frowned, eyes wide.

"Well watch me." I smirk, standing and slinging my bag over my shoulder. The substitute blinked, glanced at her data pad and tapped her stylus on the table.

"Mr. Kirk! Class isn't dismissed yet, take a seat."

I turn at the door and give the Vulcan salute, "It is for me."

"Mr. Kirk!" Her voice echoed in the amphitheatre but I ignored it, walking quickly down the hall, crossing the courtyard to the teacher's apartments. Stomping up the stairs, I press the call button by Spock's door.

Spock

I was startled out of my meditation, but I was unable to obtain my focus anyhow. My mind was unstable, a jumble of emotions that were mine and others. Information would come to the forefront of my mind at random and distract me. 10n power is equal to the relative mass of¾ No. Stop it.

The call tone sounds at my door again and I make the unconscious effort to rise. Shock colors my face at my visitor for two reasons… Jim is supposed to be in class, I did not sense his arrival, and the sight of him has unbalanced my already feeble control. Wait, that is three reasons, not two.

"So you _are_ here!" Jim's voice booms, rattling me. I cannot help but wince. "Why're you not teaching, I thought Vulcans don't get sick?"

"That is correct." I'm somewhat surprised that my voice is steady and does not betray the conflicts I am feeling. There is an urge to run and there is an urge to attack; both appallingly barbaric and illogical.

"So what's the deal, you were fine on Friday." Jim made a move to enter my apartments but I blocked his path. He stared up at me, his blue eyes piercing through me. I could almost see the conclusions he was drawing.

"What's up, are you mad at me?" Jim frowns, reaching up towards my face. I must have misjudged his intentions, for I've jerked my head back to avoid his cool fingertips and he stares at me with hurt and shock flashing across his face before he clamped down on those emotions. His words are cutting, "Oh, I see, the Vulcan has tired of his human boy-toy?" My eyes focus on a muscle twitching in his jaw, gathering my thoughts only to have them scatter again. I can feel his hurt, his frustration… his anger. Not with me, but himself. He hates himself.

Jim's back is to me, retreating quickly. I've missed his last words. He cannot leave, not like this. But it would keep him safe…_No_¾

My hand is on his arm before my mind registers the action. His skin is so much cooler than my own, which has become hot with the throws of my Plak Tow.

Jim flinches, turning around sharply to look at me. His blue eyes shimmer up at me, wet with unshed tears of his anger. But the tension slowly melts out of his posture, his gaze falling to his arm where I have failed dot release him.

"You're warmer than usual…" Jim looked at me once again, "Do you have a fever?"

"No."

"Don't lie." I close my eyes as his cool hand descends on my brow. It feels good, like balm to a burn.

"Holy shit." Jim gasped, pulling his hand back like he'd received a shock.

"You should go." My eyes open and I pry my fingers loose from Jim's arm.

"Like hell." He hissed, "Get back in there, I'm not going anywhere, Spock." He looked around like we were being watched and corralled me back into the apartment. I hear the apartment door close with an air of finality.

"We should call for a doctor. I know Vulcans run on a higher temperature, but they also don't lie either. Something's wrong with you. You nearly gave me a second-degree burn." He babbles.

I return to the sofa and to my endeavor for peace and solace. But Jim's presence has just obliterated any hope for making it through this alone.

Jim

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! He's going to fry his brain like scrambled eggs if I don't do something. The kitchen¾ water, that'll work.

Filling a basin I find beneath the sink with water from the tap, I take a dish towel from over the oven railing and walk out into the living room.

"Take off your shirt."

Spock dropped his hands, which were joined in meditation; into his lap. "Jim-"

"Just do it, Spock. Now." I wasn't going to tolerate his refusal and I think he sensed this. Setting the basin down on the low coffee table, I take Spock's shirt from his trembling fingers and fold it for him. "I should get Bones."

"_No!_"

I jump at the intense refusal, Spock's voice sharp and clipped.

"I-…o-okay. But if you get worse-"

"Then I will call for doctor M'Benga."

I wring water out of the dish towel and fold it into a square. Seating myself at his side, I turn Spock's face towards me and place the cloth upon his forehead. My lips purse sympathetically as Spock's eyes flicker closed, a small sigh passing between us. "How does that feel?"

"Better." His hands clench together in his lap though.

Dipping the cloth in the water again, I run it down his neck and shoulders, feeling the heat radiating off of his body. "Jesus…"

He doesn't respond with logic as usual, Something is _really_ wrong.

"Is this like… Vulcan influenza or something?" I chuckle nervously as I pat down his chest.

"Jim." Spock seizes my wrist and pulls the cloth away from his chest, his brown eyes boring into me. "This is neither viral or bacterial. It is…biological."

I tense, remembering that conversation that seemed so long ago. "Oh." Swallowing, I murmur, "Pon… Farr?"

He gives me a single nod.

"So you get flu-like symptoms?"

"It is much more serious than that, Jim." He speaks in a deadpan that sends me chills this time.

"How serious?" My eyes narrow.

"My body can perish from the strain of the Plak Tow."

My blood runs cold, "What's that?"

"The boiling of the blood. That is why my temperature is elevated."

"What can I do to help?" My mouth runs dry, my fingers clenching around the dishtowel until water drips into my lap. "So you don't, you know… die?" My voice cracks and I hate myself for the show of weakness.

Spock

It is taking every restraint and discipline I know to keep myself stable and in control with Jim this close to me. I can hear his heartbeat, rapidly discharging with the spike in his emotions, the major one being panic.

Jim makes an amazing starship captain, but he makes a floundering medical officer. His crystal blue eyes are looking at me with such desperation and worry. Worry and concern for me. This man. I can trust him, he trusts me.

My lips are upon Jim's before I can even think to censure my actions. With my hands on his shoulders and his on my waist, Jim lays back, my body settling over his. The damp dishrag slid up my back, eliciting a shiver from me.

Jim

God, Spock is sweltering. He's a fucking Vulcan furnace on top of me. Tossing the rag onto the table, I push my hands up his back into his hair. There is barely time to catch a gasp of air before Spock was at my mouth again. The passion in these kisses burned me more than his flesh. He was being rough, like that time I gave him chocolate liquor and ended up on the kitchen floor. His breath was scorching on my lips and came unevenly. "S-Spock…" I rasped, pushing at his shoulders some. But instead of releasing me, he just shifts his attentions to my neck.

Tipping my chin up, I take a moment to catch my breath again, my nails digging into Spock's scalp. A low rumble came from his throat. "Holy shit, did you just growl at me?" My eyes widen and my answer comes in the form of a bite on my neck.

I can't help but shudder when his feverish hands slip under my uniforms. This can't be good, his temperature almost seems to be increasing.

"S-Spock, let me up." I note the hesitation in the Vulcan, mote-likely from his inner struggle to get a hold of himself again. But finally, Spock's face appears in my line of vision. His cheeks are colored emerald, but his eyes contrast in a blood-shot red ringing his brow irises.

"I…" His words fail as if he cannot think of them, the intelligence in his eyes blanking for a split moment. Then, "-apologize, Jim." He is hoarse from a dry throat and I wince in pity for him.

Suddenly, his mahogany eyes flash with an all to human violence, "Do _not_ pity me, Jim!" And adding in a weaker voice, a whisper, "-please…"

I nod once, then shake my head, "I'm sorry, I won't. Promise." Propping myself up on my elbows, I notice that he has actually torn one seam of my cadet uniform. Easily fixed but noticeable, nonetheless.

"You need to leave." He's switched from suggesting to commanding.

"Why?" I ask, eyes narrowing.

"You're not… safe here." He paused, then added for unnecessary confirmation, "With me."

"Do you really think I'm going to leave you here in this state, alone, to die?"

Spock presses his fingers into the sides of his head, sitting up only to hunch forward over his knees. His features contort in pain and my heart drops into my feet. "Shit."

Scrambling out from under him, I take Spock by the arms and haul him up off the sofa. "C'mon, I have an idea." He seemed to be more coherent when he was cooler, so I lead him down the hall to his 'fresher.

Spock

An overwhelming flood of emotions and pain doubles me over and my awareness diminishes to a small pinprick of what is in front of me and nothing else.

Searing pain shoots down my arms and legs, pooling in my gut, making me dangerously close to expelling the contents of my stomach. There is a throbbing in my side and loins that beats in painful time with my rapid heartbeat. It feels as if someone is driving nails through my temples until they meet in the middle of my forehead. Jim's cool hand in mine is the only unthreatening sensation I feel.

My mid is turned upon its ear, a roiling mass of formulas, equations and memories punched together into a horrifyingly incomprehensible pattern of flashes and shadows.

I see my mother the moment before she slipped through my fingers on Vulcan. Her terror-struck face burns an impression on my retinas and I'm vaguely aware of screaming; sobbing. The pain in my father's voice and the agony in my body co-resides and nearly brings me to my knees, "_My fault! Murderer! My fault!_" I hear over and over again aloud before I make the connection that I am saying this.

A hand covers my mouth, muffling my cries as a softer voice whispers to me, "I dissolve our bond, Spock. You are my mate no longer." T'Pring stares at me coldly, her hand resting upon the ceremonial gong, the mallet in my hand.

Alone. I am in this alone. Death to my body and my katra lost.

"Spock!" Hands grasp the sides of my head, forcing my eyes to focus. "Listen, can you hear me!"

_Jim…_

"Jim…" My voice echoes my thoughts and I am standing in the shower stall o fmy refresher. Oddly enough, I am still clothed, but the water is running at full force, the spray directed at the back of my head. The numbing cold of the water finally reaches me and I gasp, my eyelids clamping shut in shock.

"You're not alone." Jim's voice is earnest and determined, his hands falling from my face to my shoulders. "Look at me." He waits until I obey, reaching behind me to readjust the direction of the shower spray to beat upon my back. "You and me; us." He takes my hands, which were shaking violently, "That's all. We're here, safe, alone but together." His blue eyes never left mine and freeze me in place.

"Relax." He croons softly, placing my hands upon his hips so he can remove his water-logged shirt, tossing it over the side of the stall door.

I can feel his confidence, sense his compassion.

This man…

"I'm yours for whatever you need." He unbuttons his trousers and kicks them to the corner of the shower stall.

Those words sent a whole new flare through my body, like the flip of a switch.

"Mine?" My voice sounds separate from myself, another entity.

"Yours." Jim's eyes soften.

I could have let go, I could have released the last barrier on myself at that moment. But something in Jim's posture told me to wait, to be patient. Even as it was growing painful more and more.

I watch as Jim finishes removing his clothes and discarding them. His body is full of shapes, curves and indents I long to explore. A swell of emotion I can only label as lust; rises to the forefront of my problems and the discomfort in my groin increases. A shameful whimper escapes my lips and I purse them a moment too late.

"Easy, Spock, easy…" Jim murmurs, straightening from shoving his trousers out onto the plastic bath mat. As he does so, his gaze travels up my frame and sticks ot the protrusion in my trousers. I very nearly feel hi glance like a stroking caress and my hands shake evermore violently, clenching them at my sides.

"Well, that's got to be uncomfortable." Jim quickly kneels and releases the latch on my belt, pulling it swiftly from my pant loops. I wobble a step closer to him like a child, a toddler.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" And if he had not been unzipping my pants, I might have answered him.

Instead, I only manage a grunt as he removes my uniform pants, having me step out of them. The pressure on my privates is somewhat alleviated but the pain from my barely controlled desire has me moaning before he even touches me.

Eventually, my regulation briefs join my pants outside the stall and the cold water running down my backside brings bumps to my skin.

"J-Jim-"

"Holy shit." He interrupts me and I do not dare look at him less I tackle him to the shower floor.

"You've got the equivalent of 'blue balls,' Spock." Jim puts a hand on my thigh and I balance myself as well as restrain myself by gripping the shelf in the wall.

A short silence follows Jim's words in which I try and organize a coherent sentence. Then suddenly, his cold hands wrap around my cock and my testicles in the same moment. The sensation brings a pleasure and relief mix overload and I am unable to withhold, ejaculating almost instantly. My teeth grit, muffling a strangled cry issuing from the back of my throat.

My center of balance fluctuates and my knees buckle, leaving me at Jim's mercy.

"Damn, I'm good." He grins, his arms hooked under my own, supporting me as I sag forward, panting. "That's the second time that's happened."

Only this time, I still remain over stimulated, my erection unflagging.

Jim voices a low whistle and I blush, "Seems that isn't going to do the trick." He replies as I regain some sense of control over my body.

"This sort of stimulation will not sate Pon Farr." I rasp, my voice rough.

"Okay. Let me try this then." Jim seems a little too enthusiastic, perhaps. He has me sit on the floor of the shower stall, my back against the wall opposite the showerhead, raining water down on us. Jim's hair is falling into his eyes, dripping water onto the straight bridge of his nose. To me, he is breath-taking.

I observe as he shifts from his knees to his belly, the shower stall just long enough for this maneuver.

Parting my legs, Jim gives no more warning than the last time, taking me into his mouth. I gasp sharply and grasp a handful of his hair, hips bucking skyward uncontrollably. I am vaguely aware that most-likely I am chocking Jim, but my body does not listen to my brain's commands.

But he solves this dilemma for me, his hands clamping down on my hips like iron manacles, forcing them to be mostly immobile. Biting my lip, I throw my head back and groan, coming into his mouth without warning with only a single caress of Jim's soft tongue.

Body trembling, I find little relief. Jim sits up, coughing, my seed sliding down his chin. Wiping his face and mouth, he grunts, "That's not gonna work."

I have noticed that he has started to shiver and his lips and fingertips are blue. "Jim, lets get out of the shower." The water turns warm on my body anyway.

He does not argue, so I know he is cold. He is stiff when he stands, the cold water making muscles tense up. Giving me a hand in standing, he shuts the water off and steps out into the refresher. We stand among our soggy, discarded clothes while Jim gets a towel, quickly patting himself dry and turning to me, only to put the towel on the counter. The water on my body has mostly evaporated from the whole body fever I'm suffering from. Like an all-over ache that seeps clear to my bones.

Jim pilfers through my bathroom drawers until he finds what he's looking for; water-based hand cream. I won't even ask.

Ushering me through the door, he follows me to my bedroom.

Jim

I've never really done this, not even with Gary Mitchell. We only messed around Freshmen year. But I think this is what Spock meant when he said blowjobs and hand jobs won't get him through Pon Farr. That's not sex, and he needs sex.

So I follow him into the bedroom, glancing at the chronometer and realizing that I'm twenty minutes late for my last class of the day. It doesn't really matter to me and I don't bring it to Spock's attention, who has enough on his mind already without having to worry about writing me an excuse note to Professor Eisenhower.

Spock sits down on the edge of his bed, his tremors beginning to get worse again. I eye his erection and do a mental double-take. Jeez, this may be more painful than I had anticipated.

I tip his chin up and lean down to kiss his lips, softly at first. But he pours hot desire into my mouth, his tongue invading past my lips. His hands lift and reach, grasping my hips and pulling me down into his lap.

Shoving my hands into his chest, I yank my head back from his and gasp out breathlessly, "H-Hold on, Spock." Fumbling with the lid of the jar, I flush when Spock simply pops it off with a little strength, dropping it onto the floor. I look up and thank him when I notice how much he is straining, his pulse twitching rapidly just under his skin, eyes wild with lust. It doesn't scare me, but in fact, arouses me. Licking my lips, I watch as the action drags Spock's eyes to them. I decide I should make this fast before he goes completely animal.

So I take his right hand and dip his first two fingers into the hand cream, shushing him as he jerks since it is cold. "Rub your fingers together, warm it up." I instruct, pushing him over onto his back and leaning down over him, straddling his hips, hands on his chest. "Is it warm?" I put the cap-less cream aside and catch Spock's nod.

"Alright." Swallowing nervously, I avert my eyes and reach behind myself, taking his hand in mine and guiding it towards my rear end.

Spock seemed to catch my drift and froze, "Jim-"

"Just do it, Spock. Trust me." I turn my eyes on him and witness how they effect him, the conflicting thoughts in his head flashing through his chocolate brown eyes.

Finally, he relents, "Very well." My eyes drop to his neck, focusing in on his Adam's apple and forcing myself to relax.

It isn't so bad at first, but there is considerable discomfort with the second finger and I set my teeth against the ache. Instead, I distract myself by kissing Spock, letting them progress until our tongues are tangling. That's when Spock tenses up, his head jerking back in surprise; turning his face away. I glance down to see that he's cum again, the evidence clinging to our stomachs.

Then I remember how sensitive his hands are and nearly laugh. I chuckle and turn his face towards me again, "Hey, no bad. But that was kinda hot anyway, so no worries." Spock looks dubious but I ignore it, sitting up and pushing his hand away, "Worked out good actually."

I scoop a bit of the hand cream from the jar and rub it into my palm. "Brace yourself." Reaching down between my legs, I take his persisting erection into my hand and let the cream slick up its length. Spock purrs at the feeling, making me smile. I could get used to this if he weren't in pain.

Taking a deep breath, I scoot forward a fraction and guide him by feel to my ass, biting my lip and watching his face as I ease my weight down his shaft, letting him slide into me part way. Spock's chest swells with a silent gasp, his hands moving to my hips to help balance me. Spreading my legs farther apart, I grunt in pain as I slide farther down towards his lap.

Suddenly, his hips buck upward, a sharp slice of agony shooting up my spine. Hissing in pain, my nails dig into his pectoral muscles.

But Spock doesn't seem to notice, driving into me again. "_Ah! _Spock!" I bite my tongue and clench my eyes shut. The atmosphere shifts around me and I find myself on my back, Spock lifting my legs and settling into a jerky, novice rhythm of thrusts. Tears of pain sting my eyes and I twist my fingers into the hair on his chest, "_Nnh! P-please!_" I choke out, praying that I'll adjust soon.

Finally, Spock plunges just deep enough that he hit's a spot that renders me gasping and blinking stars out of my vision. With each thrust a new pleasure blooms from the pain and I become more accustomed to his girth, wrapping my legs around his waist. I take my own cock in hand and stroke myself in time to Spock's movements, flushed and smirking up at him.

Spock

The only way to explain myself would be that the drive to mate took over and the desperate need for relief took presidency. Somewhere in the far recesses of my mind, I was aware that I had acted too rashly and taken control of Jim when he wasn't ready. But the primal urges were the only governing body in my mind directed by a humanoid set of instincts.

Just like we are all born knowing how to breathe, I was born knowing how to eventually bond. The mental outcry for mind-to-mind contact was almost as excruciating as the fire in my veins that once was my blood. Endorphins circulated through my body, mixed with adrenaline that created this sort of high that I would be hard-pressed to recreate.

Jim's emotions shot through my mind like phaser beams through our intimate contact. His pain began to melt into pleasure, then ecstasy on a higher level. Our joined heartbeats thundered at different internals in my ears.

Finally, my craving could no longer be safely denied and I lifted a hand to the p.s.i. meld points on Jim's face just after release. Panting and momentarily sated, I merge our minds together while reciting the ancient incantation.

The rush of Jim's thoughts and feelings flood my neural pathways and my apartment bedroom fades away, leaving us in suspended blackness. I feel at home in the darkness, but I can sense a sudden spike of fear from Jim, so I carefully alter our dreamscape.

We are on a desert hill on old Vulcan; my home. Jim shifts in the sand under me and I feel the echoed sensation of his lips brushing mine outside of the meld.

"Woah." Jim's brows rise as he feels it too. "This is awesome." He runs his hands up my chest and over my shoulders. "This is nothing like that mind meld six months ago."

"This is a meld between intimates." I reply, resting my face in his hair when he embraces my shoulders, head turned into my neck. Slowly, I roll us over so Jim lays over me, dry desert sand sliding off his back.

There, in the hot sun of Vulcan, we drift between sleep and consciousness.

Jim

Shit, there are not words for this feeling. I cannot only feel what Spock does, but I know what he's feeling and thinking. His thoughts merge with mine, distracting me from the aches and pains in my body.

'_Are you sated?'_ I ask through the link, smiling when all I get in reply is a soft moan and a hand brushing over my hair and down my back. His touch is gentle, affectionate.

'_I've hurt you.'_ His mind-voice sounds different then when he speaks aloud, almost more emotional.

Lifting my head from his chest, I look at his features lit by Vulcan sunlight. It's an odd experience since I don't feel the heat of Vulcan, probably because it would bake me alive if I did and wasn't wearing a cooling cloak. _'I feel fine, Spock. Besides, I should've been quicker about it.' _I watch as his arched brows pull together in a frown.

'_I should not have been so rough with you.'_

'_No worries, Spock.' _I feel an echo of my grin outside our minds, _'It was really sexy.'_

Spock's cheeks and ears blush a beautiful emerald green and I choose not to resist my urge to kiss him, my fingers sliding through the dark hair at the sides of his head. My thumbs caress the pointed tips of his ears, drawing a shiver from him.

When I feel his lips twitch beneath mine, I pull back quickly and catch the smile on his lips. It's nothing over emotional, or even big. But it suits him somehow and it steals the air right out of my lungs. Then it's gone, replaced by a look of confusion.

'_Jim?'_

Even if I blink, I still see the soft smile, remembering how it was reflected in his dark brown eyes. _'Do that again.'_ I murmur, sitting up, my hands on his furry chest, his own hands upon my hips, always maintaining contact.

Spock gave me a questioning look and I smile, pointing at my lips, _'Smile. It made you very… handsome.'_

He stares at me blankly, then, _'There is nothing for which requires such an expression.' _

Sighing, I decide that I'm lucky to have seen him smile once and I shouldn't push my luck.

'_So, hey, how do you change the scenery like that?' _

Spock drags his fingers down the tops of my thighs. _'Imagine where you want to be.' _

Closing my eyes, I think of the corn fields of Iowa around my house; the farm. When I open my eyes again, it's like I'd never left. Yellow corn stalks after harvest wave around me in the dry, hot breeze. Looking around, I frown when I don't see Spock anywhere. "_Spock!_" I call for him both mentally and out loud.

'_Here, Jim.' _

Turning at the sound of his deep baritone, I blink at his outfit. _'Where'd you find that?' _

'_You imagined me in this, Jim. Just as you imagined yourself into those clothes.' _He indicated my wardrobe with a wave of his hand.

Prying my eyes away from the hat, jeans and heeled boots Spock wore, I cast my gaze downward. The brim of a tan cowboy hat shades my view of a red plaid shirt over denim jeans and leather chaps. _'Jesus, it's like the 1850's.' _Spurs clink on my boots, identical to Spock's.

Spock

Jim looks at home in his outfit, he belongs in it. His tan skin, blue eyes like the Iowa sky and tousled, sandy blond locks give him a very 'cowboy' persona.

As for myself, I find I miss my Starfleet uniform. I do not belong in these clothes unfamiliar to me.

'_Aw, but you look so sexy in them, Spock. Damn, I've got great taste.' _Jim flashes me that grin and leers at me, bringing a flush to my cheeks.

'_I take it this is one of your fantasies?' _I pluck at the front of my black and gray plaid button down, tucked into a pair of dark blue skinny jeans tugged down over a pair of light brown leather boots complete with a short brimmed black cowboy hat.

'_Oh yeah, is now.' _Jim smirks at my scrutiny and takes my hand in his, sending a surge of sensations through my body. I do better at ignoring them this time though, letting Jim lead me out of the corn field onto a paved road with faded lines.

'_My house… the one I grew up in.' _Jim points down the road to an old farm house with faded paint and a wrap-around porch.

'_Do you consider Iowa your home?' _I fall into step beside him, the only noise being the clicks of our spurs and the wind in the cornstalks. I enjoy the meditative silence.

'_Of course not, Spock. You should know better than that. Space is home to me.' _Jim swaggers closer to me as we walk up the hill, snaking an arm around my waist, slipping his hand into my back pocket.

This shows Jim's possessive side to me, and I find that I do not mind it. I place my own arm about his shoulders, a calm satisfaction passing between us. This man…

'_I think we're alone… I'm not imagining my mom or anybody else here.' _Jim's thoughts interrupt mine. We pass stables, a barn and cows in a small grass field. Thankfully, the stench of farm animals is absent from Jim's memory of this place.

We ascend the porch steps, heels clacking on the wood. Jim turns the front door knob and it creaks as it swings open on its hinges. He takes it all in as we walk through the old farm house with wood floors.

'_Some day, we should really come here.' _He turns to me in the kitchen.

I nod, sliding my hand along the granite surface of the island countertop.

'_Preferably before we go into space.' _

I blink at his usage of the plural tense. _'We?'_ Jim walks back out into the foyer and mounts the stairs to the second story. I follow, _'Jim, I believe the correct term to use would be 'before _I_ go into space'.' _

Jim pokes his head into each room, smiling when he finds the place he'd been looking for. It appears to be a den of some sort with a pool table, the old- fashioned kind.

'_Wanna play?' _He takes two pool sticks off the rack on the wall, _'My uncle taught me, I'm pretty good.' _

'_Jim.' _

'_I could probably whoop you.' _Jim grins and starts racking the billiards together.

"_Mr. Kirk." _My tone gets his attention and he slowly puts a ball back on the table.

'_What, we don't have to play pool if you don't want too.' _

Coming around the pool table, I take Jim by the arm and lift his chin. It is not easy to read Jim, but I can tell when he is lying for his body betrays him.

'_Jim, what did you mean by 'we' going into space?' _

Jim fidgets, _'You haven't checked your comm. link yet, have you?'_

Arching a brow, I reply, _'No, I've been a little preoccupied.' _

He grins, _'Yeah, 'guess so.' _

'_Why?' _I release his chin but keep my hand upon his arm, taking his hand in my own.

'_Well…I talked with Command and they're finally granting me permission to choose my own command team for the Enterprise instead of having them assign old geezers I don't know.' _

'_Senior officers with more experience in command.' _I correct him.

'_Yeah, them.' _

'_What does that have to do with us?' _

'_Well, I've put in a request to have all my original command team from the Nero incident. That would include having you as my First Officer, right?' _He looks at me expectantly.

'_Correct.' _

'_I sent you a formal request yesterday.' _Jim looks down at our joined hands. _'I'm hoping you'll accept.' _

A chance at a bond with this man, to serve with him again, to watch him expand and grow as a Starfleet Captain. A chance to protect him. I had never thought it possible.

'_I… would be honored, Jim.' _

Watching his blue eyes lit up, I know that I've made the correct decision. Jim presses me into the edge of the pool table, kissing me firmly, his touch crazy ove rmy body. At one moment, at my neck, sliding down my chest; the next in my hair, dropping my hat onto the green felt of the pool table.

Fire ignites in my veins again and I groan, knocking Jim's own hat to the floor as I grasp the back of his head.

Jim leans his weight into me, grabbing the edge of the game table. My body bends accordingly, falling backwards onto the table, grunting in discomfort and propping myself up on my elbows as Jim scatters the balls with his hands to make room for us.

'_Jim-' _

'_No, this is hot, it'll work.' _He smirks at me, straightening from his position over me to yank off his boots. Hearing his belt buckle jangle, I lift my head in time to see him drop trou and crawl back onto the pool table, running his hands up my sides, untucking my shirt. I watch, fascinated, as Jim grasps the edges of my plaid shirt and tears it open. Buttons fly every which way, bouncing off the pool table.

'_I've always wanted to do that.' _Jim grins devilishly, pulling my upper body up off the table to lock our lips together.

His passion is so overwhelming to me that I Find my reactions occur a half-step behind him. Jim's lips are already at my throat by the time my mind formulates a puzzled reply, breathless nonetheless, _'You've always longed to destroy clothing?' _

'_Naw, just rip it off you.' _He sits up and yanks his own button-down shirt open, letting it slide down his arms, a stray button smacking me in the forehead. _'And myself. It's just faster. Besides, not like they really exist.' _

He is nearly naked over me now and I notice that he's still wearing the ass-less chaps, and no briefs. I flush emerald.

'_You like?' _He chuckles at me, my eyes lost somewhere between hair and penis. I lack a coherent reply.

Picking up his hat from the table, Jim plops it down on his head and gives me a courteous tip of the brim, _'It's not polite to stare, sir.' _He smiles, _'But for you, I could make an exception.' _

As I had noticed before, Jim's cock is shaped differently from my own; thicker, shorter. But so much more aesthetically appealing to me. It is flushed pink at this moment, leaning to the right as his erection persists and progresses. I have also noticed how easily he gets them, so much so that it is almost chronic.

Jim squeezes my hips with his thighs and I bring my scrutiny up to his eyes. This man…how easily I have become addicted to him.

'_Are you gonna continue to stare or are you going to let me undress you?' _Jim's impatience comes through in his words and I answer him by pulling my useless shirt off my arms. Jim works my belt off and considers it for a moment, _'Huh, I could restrain you.'_

'_That would be unwise.' _I pluck the belt from his fingers and throw it over the edge of the table.

Jim arches his brows at me, _'Oh? How so?' _

'_You do not restrain Vulcans, Jim.' _

'_Oh, I see.' _He rolled his eyes, _'Makes perfect sense.' _But thankfully he drops the subject, opting instead to attack my mouth with kisses that leave me gasping for oxygen and aching for more.

It takes more effort for Jim to peel my denim jeans off as they are very nearly form-fitting. But once he succeeds, he wads them up in frustration and chucks them away. Slipping off the table, Jim grabs a hold of my feet and tugs each boot free, then proceeds to slide his fingers along the soles of my feet. Gasping, I jerk my feet away from his touch. _'Jim-'_

But he manages to snag my right foot, _'I'm just curious…' _And so he slips my big toe into his mouth, rasping his tongue over my skin. The sensation is like a direct stroke to my privates and I groan, feeling the stimuli both inside and outside the meld. It's too much.

'_Jim!'_ My nails gouge chunks out of the felt table. His cool, moist mouth leaves me flesh and I relax again, my hands trembling slightly from the shock.

'_That was awesome.' _Jim murmured, his lips by my ear suddenly. I open my eyes and see his face, eyes looking back at me. "God, you're beautiful." He says aloud. _'Good thing I didn't give you underwear, huh?' _He grinned and groped me shamelessly, his own pleasure rising with my own through our shared link in the meld. He manipulated me with soft and firm touches and caresses that brought me nearly to the brink of my restraint and I warned him thus:

'_Jim, you must stop.' _My voice is so devoid of determination that Jim only smiles wantonly at me, lightly biting my nipple, causing my back to arch. _'Do not… tease me any longer.' _

I feel him tremble with anticipation and sit up, withdrawing his fingers from my rectum where he has been delivering direct stimuli to me for too long. My body is radiating heat with the remnants of my Plak Tow and a thin sheen of sweat already covers Jim from head to foot.

Crystal blue gazes back at me with unbridled desire I can nearly taste; a metallic tang. Through Jim's eyes come such deep emotion that it would take me days of meditation to sort out. But for now, I do not mind being swept away.

The first moment of entry is a sharp pain, a discomfort slowly dulling. But he gives me time, something I failed to supply him with earlier. But what's done is done and I push those thoughts from my mind.

Jim lays his cool body over mine, keeping my legs aloft by supporting them beneath the knees. Guiding me into establishing a common rhythm, he takes up the spirit of movement and I am lost.

Lost in a wash of two pleasure, separate and joined.

This man…

Lost in the vivid sights and smells. Jim's hair; sweet with shampoo, organic with sweat. Jim's features contorted into expressions of an ecstasy only I can bring him.

This man…

Lost in emotions I can neither separate out as mine or Jims. Just as two colors mix to make another, we have become this new entity.

This man. Jim.

We climax together, bodies entangled, hearts soaring high. His face buried in the crook of my neck. My arms locked about his back, we spend a small eternity settling back into our normal biological functions, but all the while never letting the other go.

- X~~~X -

Something has disturbed me greatly in my meditation. My courtship with Jim has progressed rapidly, perhaps too rapidly. He has assisted me through my first Pon Farr, an event usually only shared between bond mates. Do I want a bond with James T. Kirk? Does Jim fancy one with me? I think that our relationship could quickly turn destructive. I find that it pains me to think of confining Jim to a bond with someone he does not wish to spend the rest of his life with. It could hurt Jim; a bond with me.

The call tone of my apartments rang and reluctantly, I rose to answer. This must be done, for Jim's sake.

"You wanted to see me?" The cheerful face of Jim Kirk is nearly my undoing, but I persist.

"Yes, Jim. Come in." I step aside so he may pass into my living area. But when I turn, Jim's arms are about my shoulders before I can react. His lips press to mine with fervor and all I can do is wait until he withdraws, a look of confusion on his face.

"What's wrong?"

I disentangle myself from his embrace and went into the kitchen, pouring two cups of tea.

"I thought you wanted to see me." He followed and took the cup I offered him.

"I do, Jim, but I only wish to speak with you."

A look of unease came over Jim but passed just as quickly as it had appeared, confidence taking its place. "Didn't I turn in my last term paper to you? Something wrong with it?"

"Yes, Jim, you did. And it was superb." I sipped from my cup of hot tea and watched as Jim did the same.

"Than what's this about?"

I seem to lack the words and knowledge needed in which to start, so I reply in a literal sense to buy time, as I have witnessed Jim do in his oral exams. "Us."

"Spock, quit beating around the bush and tell me what's up." Jim muttered and did not bother to hide his impatience.

I should have foreseen that he would see through my tactic, after all, he uses it himself. It was foolish of me. "Our relationship, more specifically."

Jim tensed, "Should I be worried?"

I did not answer him for if I did, I would put the conversation into jeopardy. So Jim immediately sobered. "Okay…" He murmured.

"Jim, in the weeks we have been courting, we have progressed quickly, even if not purposefully." I worked to choose my words carefully.

"I don't like the sound of this…" Jim's hands clamped anxiously about his teacup.

"But I wish to terminate our relationship." Swallowing, I watch the color drain from Jim's face.

"What, why?" Jim's voice rose threateningly. Surreptitiously, I took a step back. "Is it something I've done? Something I've said? Tell me!" The desperation in his voice tore at me. "We could fix it, you and I, we can get through whatever it is!" Jim grasped my arms tightly. "Just tell me what's wrong."

"It is… personal, Jim." He had already breeched my control previously, I would not compromise his chances of release from this makeshift bond anymore than I already had.

"What?" Jim's confusion deepened.

"I believe you would say, 'it's not you, but it is me.'" I had heard this phrase from his lips freshman year when he publicly tore apart a young cadet's heart. She even dropped out of the academy just to be rid of him, I'm assuming.

Of course, I do not wish Jim to drop out of his classes so close to graduation. But perhaps this phrase will communicate my meaning.

Jim's lips pursed tightly, his hands falling from my arms, slumping at his sides. A veil fell behind his blue eyes, locking in his emotions and thoughts from me. But his words were chilled like the winter on Delta Vega.

"That was… low; cruel, Spock." He backed away from me. "Fine."

I blinked, having expected more of a confrontation.

"I can take a hint. You're tired of me and don't even respect me enough to give me an explanation."

I opened my mouth to protest but closed it again when he cut me off with a rude gesture. I arched a brow.

"Shut the fuck up, I don't even want to hear it anymore." He hissed.

His hands were shaking, rattling the teacup in his grip. I reached out to take it from him, but in an blur of motion, he slapped my hand away from him, the cup shattering on the floor. My fingers stung harshly from his blow and I curled them into a fist, staring down at the broken teacup, closing my eyes as Jim growled, "Don't you fucking dare touch me, you pointy-eared bastard!" He shoved me back a pace with a push to my chest, dashing away before I could reply.

"Mr. Kirk-"

My answer was the slam of my front door, sighing as it rattled on its hinges.

Jim

I should've broke more shit. I should have punched him. Who the fuck does he think he is, playing with my emotions like that? This is a joke, right? A nightmare? If so, it's not fucking funny and someone should fucking wake me up!

I rushed out of the apartment building and into the blinding San Francisco sunlight. Squinting hid my tears as I ran across the main courtyard, running along the East gate, escaping Starfleet property and darting across the main road, nearly plowing into a hover vehicle. But the blaring horn didn't even reach me.

I finally slowed to a stop eighteen blocks from the academy, panting and perspiring. I didn't really know where I was anymore, but there was a bar across the street. "Thank God…"

Bones

"See ya tomorrow, Doctor M'Benga." I adjusted the strap on my shoulder, hand on my bag. Leaving the lab, I toss a glance over my shoulder, catching the raised hand of farewell from the physician. I couldn't wait to get back to the dorm and sleep. I doubt Jim is there, he's been spending the night with the Vulcan Professor more and more these days.

Unlocking our dorm room door, I drop my keys into the empty chip bowl by the coffee maker. I don't even bother to glance at Jim's side of the room until I get to my desk, a drink in hand. Odd… He usually takes his bag with him when he goes to the green-blooded hobgoblin's. But there it is, pins and buttons and all. "Jim?" I peek into the 'fresher but he's not here, which should have been a warning sign to me right there.

It was ten till midnight, an hour past curfew, and Jim still wasn't back yet. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep until I got rid of this uneasy feeling. So, reluctantly, I set down my old copy of Tom Sawyer and went down to administration.

"Hey, has Jim Kirk made it in past curfew?" Leaning against the front desk, I wait impatiently while the cadet checks her database.

"Uhm…he's never left." She frowned, "And if he did, he didn't do so with permission."

Damn. "Alright, thanks anyway." Sighing, I loathe my only next option.

"Hey, can I make an internal communication?" Leaning over the desk, I pick up the receiver and punch the button for Mr. Spock's apartments.

"This is Spock." A deep, infuriatingly calm voice; replied.

"Hey, McCoy here, is Jim there with you?"

There's a long pause. Did he hang up?

"Professor?" Frowning, I wait.

Finally, "Has he not returned to the dorms, Doctor?"

My blood runs cold, "No."

"Than I have no knowledge of his whereabouts."

"None at all?" Now I'm just desperate. The last time this happened, Jim returned with a broken arm and internal bleeding.

"No, Dr. McCoy. Good night."

"Wait!" Something isn't right. "You don't sound like you care! Aren't you going to help me look for him? He's missing, you _green blooded hobgoblin_!"

There's another short pause, then, "Are you quite finished?"

My jaw clenches in frustration.

"Mr. Kirk is a grown man, Doctor, and fully capable of taking care of himself. I am not his caretaker. Now, if you would conclude this conversation, I would like to return my meditations."

"Fine!" I growl, "I don't need your damn help! Damn ice cube!" Slamming the receiver down, I stomp off to get my jacket and start the search for Jim Kirk, the hardest, most unpredictable guy to find. Caretaker my ass, you need a fucking tracking device to find the stupid kid.

Jim

Oh jeez, my head… That bastard better not've snapped my front teeth out, I taste blood.

A voice…shit, he's come back for me? "Fucking bastard, I'm out of your untucking bar, 'kay? You gonna fucking sodomize me now too? 'Ere, I'll make it easy for ya…" Grunting, I roll onto my stomach.

"Shut up, Jim and get up. You look like road-kill." A gruff voice growls, a pair of hands yanking me to my feet. Huh, so I still have feet…

"Bones?" My head spins and I nearly vomit, and it wouldn't be on my shoes this time, "What're you doing here?"

"Idiot, that's my line." Bones' arm hooks around my waist as he pulls mine across his shoulders. My depth perception must be whack, Bone's eyes are bulging like a fishes.

"What're you giggling about? C'mon, let's go home." He pulls me along, my feet dragging behind. "You owe me one hell'van explanation, Jim. And I'm sure someone's reported you as missin' by now."

"You know what?" I struggle not to slur.

"What?" Bones barks.

"You're dead sexy when you're pissy." I slur, plastering a sloppy, drunk-ass grin on my face.

Bones just stares at me, brows pinched and lips pursed. He looks like puffer fish… a _really_ old Asian man. I guffaw.

"What the hell did you drink?" Bones grunts.

"Romulan ale." The name turns sour on my lips and I hunch forward, dry-heaving.

Bones

Of course I find him in the seediest place I look. The Cocteau is is one of those bars where bootleggers and shady dealers hang out between shits in the night world, so of course there's crime and fire-fights there every day.

Jim's the only one I know who would deliberately go there for a cheap thrill. Stupid and far from noble when one goes looking for trouble. He smells like a Klingon bar, no less.

The tricky part of tonight will be getting him back to the dorm room without being spotted by a dean or a hall monitor…or caught on camera. Of course Jim is making the task nearly impossible. "Could you be more annoying?"

"Depends baby, what's in it for moi?" Lovely, he's suddenly a Frenchman. How did I get mixed up with this farm boy from Iowa? At least he's not too heavy… Punching in my medical codes, I let the gate scan my hand, hearing the lock click. And why was I taking the blame for him by using my codes? Fuck, I'm such a Southern sucker.

I get him all the way across the courtyard and drag him to the wall beside the door to our West wing. Catching my breath, I shove Jim's clumsy hand away from my hair where he'd been playing with my sideburns. "We have to get past the camera up there." I huff, wishing I'd taken more personal fitness classes.

"'S easy, Bonesy." Jim pulled out one of those moving holographic games that young children have to keep entertained on long trips. How he has one, I don't know. But he flips the screen open and slicks it on, typing in commands until two monsters appear and engage in a tooth-and-claw battle. "'Count of three, 'kay?"

I watch, brows raised, as he chucks the game into the corner below the camera. A red light flashes when it enters the sensor field and the camera swivels downward, taping the movement of the game.

"Motion detector." Jim grumbles. He really is a fucking genius.

Taking him by the warm, I key in the dorm code and yank the door open to cover us just as the sensor field and camera recover and detect our movement.

Jim smirks and puts his arm out, flipping the camera off from around the door before I can pull him into the lobby and down the hall. Dragging hi up the stairs, I hiss, "Idiot, wanna get us court marshaled?"

Jim laughs like a maniac, "They wouldn't kick me out," he sniffles, giggling, "I'm fucking James Tiberius Kirk. Their saving grace!" I slap my hand down on his mouth, pulling out our key card in anticipation of reaching our room down the hall.

"Yeah, and you're also a colossal pain in my ass."

"Now that… can be arranged." Jim burped.

"Attractive." I scowl, pulling him around the corner. That's when a hall monitor steps around the other bend at the end of the hall and I quickly haul Jim back around the corner into hiding.

"_Hey!_" I hiss when he bites the hand over his mouth. Wiping it on my pants, I glare at him. "Idiot." I whisper, tensing when a voice reaches down the hall to us:

"Hey, anybody there?"

Swearing under my breath, I tug Jim towards a laundry cart with uniforms piled high at the top.

"Oh _heeeeeey_, isn't that Jamie?" Jim smirks and tries to stay behind as I pull him towards the cart.

"_Jim!_" I hiss in a low whisper I hope sounds impatient and pissed off.

The sound of running feet makes me panic and I jump into the laundry cart, dragging on Jim's arm. But not before he grins like a fucking goofball at a security camera, flipping it the bird before toppling into the laundry with a feminine squeal.

Covering his mouth with the crook of my arm, I hold his head down and listen as cautious footsteps echo in the hallway, and finally recede with the hall monitor speaking into his comlink, reporting the disruption.

"Shit." I growl, "You're getting me into a lot of trouble, Jim."

Standing up in the cart, I shake free of dirty uniforms and haul Jim to his feet. "C'mon, just a little farther."

When we finally retire to our dorm room, I lock our door and press my back into the metal, heaving a relieved sigh. Suddenly, Jim's lips are upon mine, suffocating me with his alcohol breath. I try to push him away but he's leaning all his weight into me and his hand is at my fly.

"J-Jim." I gasp, shoving at his shoulder and grasping his wrist, squirming to get out from under him. His lips are hot on my neck, "_Jim!_"

"God, you're so cute when you writhe like that." Jim pushes his whole hand into my uniform trousers, gripping me through my briefs.

Do I want this? An affair with Jim? Vulcans are pretty strong, aren't they? "Jim, what about S-Spock?" My voice is harsh from his constant kisses.

"We broke up." Jim presses his palm into my crotch, making it hard for me to refuse.

"So I'm the second best?" For some reason, this doesn't upset me as much, though I'm sure it will later. Do I want to be the 'rebound'? I deliberated for a few seconds, but in the end, Jim's hands sliding up my shirts convinces me. I can handle it, Jim wants me, I can make him fall for me instead. Right?

Grasping Jim by the arms, I pull his hands off my body and drive him back, kissing him firmly, passionately as my stifled emotions rise to the surface and threaten to drown me.

Jim drags me down onto his bunk and starts undressing me, our movements hurried and blurred as we frantically get down to skin-on-skin contact. Jim's feverish body wraps around mine, his hands roaming down my back and grasping my ass, pulling my hips into his, grinding until we both moan.

"Fuck, Bones, fill me." He whines in my ear, parting his legs so I can settle between them. I'd stopped fantasizing about this after Jim's rejection. But now, all these fantasies come rushing back just as nude and naughty as before.

Jim

It's easy to close my eyes and imagine Bones' hands are Spock's. Spock is kissing me, touching me, murmuring to me. It's Spock's cock sliding into me, fucking me, filling this aching void in me. It's easy to wish, to get carried away.

"Spock…" I groan, wrapping my legs around his waist.

"Jim, look at me." Bones pants, eyes intent on my face when I open my eyes. "It's me, not him."

Tears blue my vision and a wave of exhaustion over takes me. My arms fall from around Bone's neck and I turn my face away so he won't see me cry.

Bones catches the hint and withdraws, sliding his arms around me and holding me close against his chest. He doesn't have hair on his chest, like Spock does, which only makes me sob harder.

"I'm s-… sorry."

"It's alright, you need time." Bone's tone is soft, a rare occurrence of bedside manner for him. "I'm here, and you know I love you."

"You don't deserve this…"

"Shut up Jim, I'll make my own decisions. I'm a grown man." Ah, that sounds more like the grouse doctor I know.

"Do you… want to talk about it?" He asks tentatively. Leave it up to Bones to provide an opportunity to vent. So I took it, scowling against his chest.

"Everything was great, Bones, we'd even melded a few times, you know?" Bones was silent, a gentle queue for me to continue. "God, Bones… He even smiled for me. He held me like there was no tomorrow."

Bones sighed, "Did he give any explanation as to why?"

"_No!_" I sit up, instantly regretting it when my head erupts in pain. Bones cradles my aching head to his shoulder. "Just that we'd moved too fast or something. And when I asked him why, he just said it was personal! After everything we've been through, he picked this to be too personal a topic?" My voice steadily rises with my frustration.

"That seems rather cowardly." Bones seems a little too amused by that.

"What? You think he's afraid of commitment or something?"

"Vulcans commit for life Jim, I doubt that's the reason." Bones is quiet for a while, then, "But it would seem odd for him to dump you when he was so open to you. Maybe he does not appreciate the breech in his so 'impeccable' control?"

"I don't know." He must have heard the heartbreak in my voice for he let the conversation die out. Next I knew, it was morning.

The P.A. was what woke me. We usually keep the volume turned down, but some mofo must have messed with the controls for a good, fucking laugh.

Groaning, I wince and roll out from under Bone's arms. "I hurt." I mutter, "Look it up in the fucking dictionary and I'm the fucking definition." I stiffen and shush Bones, who's pissing and moaning next to me. "They said our names."

"What?"

"Clean our your fucking ears, Bones! They called us to the head bitch's!" I smack his arm and haul myself to my feet. "Which means we've got twenty-five minutes to get around and be there." That seemed to wake him up.

Fucking everybody was there. Admiral Pike, Janeway, Bones and I and… Spock. Why the fuck is _he_ here? I made it a point to only vaguely acknowledge his presence with a nod when we sat, Janeway addressing the problem with no pretext:

"Cadet Kirk, Cadet McCoy," She only looked at me, "Have you had the pleasure of viewing this footage?" She tapped a key on her desk and the wall to our left lit up as the lights dimmed. Images whizzed by and gradually slowed until it was in a frame-by-frame sequence that showed the hallway of the west wing dorms, second floor, just past the turbo lift.

Two uniformed cadets stumbled around the corner then leapt back into the shadows. The picture shifted as Janeway manipulated it, bringing light and focus to me and Bone's faces. I scrunched my eyes like an Asian and bared my teeth in a Klingon equivalent of a smile. There was a snort of suppressed laughter from Pike. I looked over at Bones, who was slumped in his seat with a hand raised to dump his head into, which he only did after I flipped the camera off, Bone's face contorted in an exasperated mid-silent-sentence. Janeway still-framed it and the lights returned.

"Good movie preview, when's it coming out?" I mutter, for I couldn't resist.

"Cadet Kirk, this is the exact behavior we discourage here. This does not make me confident in your ability to run the flagship of the fleet. Or any other ship, for that matter."

I hoped I wasn't gaping. My mind raced for a reply but my mouth beat me to it, "You're going to take the _Enterprise _from me?"

"Technically, she is not yet yours, Kirk." Janeway arched her brows.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me, and the _Enterprise _and a ticket to outer space slipping out of my fingers. Then Pike spoke up, "Admiral, I have no qualms with Jim being her Captain, I chose him, after all. He's got real potential."

"Admiral Pike, I know you made the choice. But how long will it take him to reach that potential and at what expense?"

"A kid's stunt, yes. But I suspect he'll never do it again, Admiral." Pike didn't even so much as glance at me, but I caught his queue.

"I promise to uphold Starfleet's honor and ideals, Admiral."

"With that face on first contact missions, right Kirk?" She pointed at the screen with a wry expression, unconvinced.

I couldn't help but grimace. Bones shifted to get to his feet, but the only silent party having yet to speak beat him to it. Spock rose to his feet and straightened his already neat uniform, "I will take full responsibility in correcting Cadet Kirk's behavior, Admiral, while in service."

"Mr. Spock?" Janeway leaned forward in her seat, confusion on her face and in her eyes.

"Take this address as an informal note of acceptance to service upon the flagship _Enterprise_ as I hold to my belief in Jim Kirk's impeccable future development as a starship captain."

I stared at him, putting my hand on Bones' arm when he looked about ready for some violent confrontation. "Not now Bones." I whispered, feeling his piercing gaze on me, doing my best to ignore it.

"Are you positive, Mr. Spock?" Janeway and Pike both seemed surprised.

"I am fairly certain, Admiral. That is, if her new captain will accept my service as his first officer." He looked right at me for the first time since I'd arrived, those mahogany-brown eyes calculating; expectant.

"Mr. Kirk?" Janeway addressed me impatiently.

"Of course, I'd be… honored." I forced myself to look away from his face, all uniquely Spock. Pike looked a tad dubious, his eyes shifting between Spock and I.

"The honor is all mine, Mr. Kirk." He turned towards Janeway, hands clasped behind his back. "Now, if that concludes our impromptu meeting, Admiral, I have business to attend too."

"Of course. Dismissed." Janeway didn't seem quite pleased or upset about the results of the meeting. But I was too busy piecing through words spoken by a certain Vulcan.

Bones and I were halfway across the compound when I finally interrupted his muttered rants and relieved words that he wasn't drug into my mess after all.

"He still has feelings for me."

"Beg your pardon? Who, the green-blooded hobgoblin? Vulcans don't feel, Jim." Bones shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You know what I mean, Len." I slowed our pace as I pondered, "Why else would he directly put himself in five years of contact with me?"

"To boss you around, remember?" He snorted.

"He saved my ass in there." I frowned. "Why?"

"'Cuz he felt responsible, probably. After all, if he hadn't have been an ass you wouldn't have gone off drinking in the first place."

I stopped, "But…why should he care?"

"I doubt he wants to sabotage your career, Jim." Bones made a good point.

"But he totally put himself out there…"

He just shrugged at me.

Bones

We were on the lawn that Saturday, enjoying the sun in one of its more mild days. I was telling Jim about the latest improvements I'd 'okayed' for sickbay on the _Enterprise_ when he suddenly rolled over and plastered his lips to mine, sticking his tongue into my mouth. I froze at first, my mind blanking and forgetting everything about protoplasers and derma lasers. Confusion broke away to excitement, thinking I'd hit a funky kink in Jim with all my doctor's lingo. My arms encircled his waist, pulling him down on top of me. But he seemed distracted, his hands remaining on my chest.

Then just as quickly as he'd begun, Jim pulled away and returned to his back in the grass. "J-Jim…?" I stared at my empty arms and sat up.

He looked at me like nothing had happened and started chattering about some shit that I tuned out as I puzzled. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Jim was using me. We were just a courtyard across from the teacher's apartments. Jim was using me to try and make Spock show some reaction. Anger and hurt bubbled up in my chest and I cut off his rant.

"It didn't work."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I know. Those theorists didn't know what they were taking about." Jim rolled his eyes.

"No. Jim," I turned my eyes on him. That seemed to shut him up for the most part. "What?" He sat up and looked at me. Really looked at me for once, but there was always that small barrier between us.

"You didn't make him jealous, he probably didn't even see us."

Jim's face closed down, his 'Captain' mask, as it was dubbed among the command crew during the Nero episode.

"No, he saw us." Jim picked at the grass.

My teeth ground together, "I can't _believe_ you!" I growled, getting to my feet, snatching my uniform jacket up off the ground.

"What, it's all good for you, you'll get free service." Jim frowned, rolling to his knees.

My arm flashed out before I could stop it, curling my fingers into the front of Jim's uniform, yanking him up a few inches and getting in his face. "I'm not some whore you lives for a quickie in some back alley. You want that, go to Orion. Otherwise, I don't want to be in any of this."

Jim's eyes were ice blue and defiant, narrowed and glaring as he grasped my wrist and yanked out of my grip. I let him go, turning on my heel and storming across the courtyard.

Jim called after me, "Where' you going!"

"Somewhere you're not." I pretended not to see the surprised hurt on his face.

Spock 

Jim Kirk will be the death of me. I know this for the show he put on in the courtyard, unfortunately, succeeded in getting to me. I know it's purpose was to rile me and show ownership over Jim. But I no longer have any reign over what Jim does or whom he courts. Cadet McCoy did not look pleased when I witnessed their little lover's spat from my window.

Enough, I have no time for this. I must pull my things together and focus for my last covert operation before my service upon the _Enterprise_ is locked into my records. Once that happens, I will answer primarily to Jim, my Captain. The thought sends me mixed emotions I force aside to deal with later. For the first time since my youth, I feel insecure. This is what he's done to me.

Among the infiltration team is Commander Koxx, Admiral Leoks and a handful of men and women I'd served aboard the _Enterprise_ with under Pike's Captaincy. Each of us were dressed in black locator suits, an inner comlink in our ear that could only be removed surgically, and combat tricorders. We were lined up in orderly rows on cargo pads aboard the U.S.S. _Intercept_, a Starfleet co-op ship with the guise of a freighter. For short hand, a ship for spying. Only today, she was hosting a different mission.

They would beam us aboard a ship proved to be supplying weapons to the Romulan Empire. We are to intercept this ship at warp and maintain beaming distance while cloaked while we disable the ship. It should be a rather simple job.

"Sure-Fire one, are you linked in?" My partner's voice whispers through the comm in my ear and I turn my head and not to him.

"Energize." I give the command after everyone checks in on their links, phasers set to heavy stun.

A gold shimmer of my molecules whirls around my eyes, changing the scenery from the _Intercept_ to a dark cargo bay. My night vision lenses slip over my eyes and shapes appear from darkness.

Suddenly, phaser fire lances through the group, dematerializing Commander Clark.

"Phoenix? Sure Fire to Phoenix, report." I contacted my informant as our group scattered and took up defensive positions behind cargo. My eyes alight and widen upon the box I had chosen labeled EXPLOSIVES. I quickly changed position, crouching behind a tall, wide crate with Lieutenant Maya, who was favoring her right arm.

"Three casualties, sir. They seemed to know we were coming. Their disruptors sir, they're Romulan issue. And set to kill." Phoenix finally replied.

"Do you have an estimate of their numbers and defenses?" I put my phaser in its holster and take Maya's arm, administering simple first aid.

"I don't know, sir. They seem to be wearing suits that block their heat readings."

I paused, took out my phaser and thought, _'What would Jim do?' _"Set phasers to kill." I said over the public link, "Buddy up and advance forward with caution to form a circle. Blue York, Black Cat; move around the parameters and flush them to the middle of the cargo bay. Sure Fire out."

"Maya, request to be beamed back to the ship, you can no longer shoot with your injury." I pressed my back into the crate.

"But then you'll be alone." She protested.

"I will be fine." I urged her, waiting until she disappeared in the transporter effect.

"Sure Fire one, I've got my sights on a-" My partner's voice erupted in static. I froze.

"Red Fox, come in." But I knew he wouldn't answer. My partner had been killed. _'Kroykah!' _

"Phoenix, report." I hold my phaser ready over my shoulder and peer around the corner of my crate. That's when I saw one, an Orion bootlegger, his skin covered in a black suit covering his heat readings. I glanced at my wrist tricorder. Expanding its reading field, I watch my crewmen moving into position, and verified the species of my enemy a few feet from me. A small green dot creeps towards my position on my tactical screen.

Rising to my feet, I spin around the corner of my hiding place and shoot the disruptor out of the Orion's hand. But he doesn't seem surprised, his body mass hitting me square in the chest, knocking the wind out of me. We fell in a tangled mess on the floor, my phaser falling out of my grasp. The stars finally clear from my vision just as the Orion recovers, brandishing an archaic knife with a serrated edge. I put up my arms for protection but he attacks like it's broad daylight.

"_Nh!_" My fingers claw into the Orion's throat, searching out the point I can administer the nerve pinch. As we struggle, his knife finally hits home. I gasp as the sharp weapon plunges into my side, lancing my heart and burying itself to the hilt. I taste blood just as my fingers have the last of my strength to pinch down on the nerve centers on the Orion bootlegger. His weight falling on me only magnifies the pain in my side. I hiss through my teeth and shove him off onto the floor. There is no pain, pain is a thing of the mind. I must get my… men to safety.

Gritting my teeth, I start issuing orders until the transporter beam takes me, my health readings reaching an alarmingly dangerous rate and alerting the crew aboard the _Intercept_ to beam me back. That was the last thing I knew.

Jim

I was sitting in the mess hall that morning when the P.A. announced loudly, "_All medical personnel, report to sickbays one through four immediately, this is _not_ a drill. I repeat, this is _not _a drill._" My eyes got wide and I looked at Bones, who was already picking up his tray and dumping it. I followed, "What's going on?"

"How should I know?" Bones grumped but I knew he was lying.

"You're lying, you know. What's happening?" I grasped his arm and kept pace with his hurried steps. He looked even more pissed than usual and it only alarmed my already piqued sense of concern.

"Us medical guys were told to be ready for a real emergency, but they said everything would be fine and they had everything under control. Yet another time Starfleet's been wrong. That's why we couldn't go out off campus today, Medical staff's on lock down."

I gaped, "What, why?"

Bones picked up the pace as we joined the mob of medical men and women hurrying to sickbay. "The fat-cats launched a covert operation to confront the bootlegging problems. I swear, that's all I know." He splayed his hands.

"Wait," I pulled him to a stop, "who went on this mission?"

Bones shifted, "I can't ell you that Jim, it's confidential."

I was losing my patience and my gut was telling me something was very, very wrong. And I always follow my gut feelings. "Just tell me this:" I wait until I have his attention, "was Spock among them?"

Bones pursed his lips and that was all the confirmation I needed. My voice became firm, commanding, "Let me come with you."

"Jim, I can't¾" He erupted in a loud voice and I stared him down, gripping his arm. He must have seen the fear I was feeling because he relented, defeat slumping his shoulders.

"Alright… C'mon." He sighed, "but don't touch anything!"

As the doors to sickbay two slid open, chaos and mayhem ensued. Bones stripped down and changed for surgery, being briefed by his assistant Nurse Chapel.

Doctor M'Benga was doing the same, stepping through the anti-bacterial field. I watched him, knowing he was Spock's doctor. He unknowingly led my gaze to Spock's prone form on an anti-grav gurney. My ears stopped working; movement, time and space itself slowing around me.

"Spock." Two nurses were prepping him for surgery. Then I saw it, the knife yet to be removed was still lodged in his side to staunch the flow of blood. There's so much blood though, flowing green from his side… his heart. It decorates his face like morbid war paint. He's so, so pale. I do not move, for what can I do? I can't help him. This realization cuts me deep and before I know what I'm doing, I'm at his side. The nurses have nearly finished and they speak to me but I cannot hear them. I touch his face, cold for the first time. He doesn't even move, deep in his healing trance.

Finally, someone grasps my arms and pulls me away, tugging my unwilling body away from him. I've seen death, a lot actually. I've killed and wounded people, but it's never really felt like this… this close to home. My parents… Spock. They're the only ones.

He gets smaller and smaller, and the father they take him from me, the more my fear grows until I'm shaking and talking; talking about mom… talking about dad. Sam. Spock. Something stops my words. Cradling me, holding me; murmur, pet, stroking hair, comfort.

"Shh, he's going to be okay. Spock survived this far, he can't die here. M'Benga is an amazing surgeon. He'll save Spock, Jim, I promise." Uhura's soft, urgent and sure cadence brings me back to the present and I lift my head from her shoulder, apologizing breathlessly when I see the dark, wet spot on her burgundy uniform.

Reaching up, I dry the tear tracks from my cheeks and accept another hug, my chin upon her shoulder. Closing my eyes, I let myself exist in this place of maternal comfort a little while longer. We're in a private room, the door closed against the clamor outside.

I slowly pull away from Uhura and drop heavily into a nearby chair. Uhura drug one up alongside me and looked at me. I could almost feel the conclusions she was drawing up about me. My relationship with, well… was with¾Spock.

"What're you doing here?" I ask.

"Bones called for me, told me you were looking hysterical and he couldn't keep tabs on you at the moment." Her sympathy showed in her dark eyes.

I tried for a smile but got 'sheepish idiot' instead.

"He sounded angry… I suspect he knows then." She sighed. "But when doesn't he sound angry, I guess?"

"Knows what?" I frown.

Nyota rolled her eyes, "Jim, you clearly have feelings for Spock still."

"Well, of course I do. He broke up with _me_."

"Oh." She squinted, "He was always really vague when he talked about it. I'd just assumed¾"

"¾Assumed I was the douche?" I finished for her with a snort, averting my eyes.

"Well, something like that." She frowned. "But now that I think about it, you always looked happy with him. So did he."

"Well, he must be a mother fucking good actor then." I grumbled.

"Hey, you don't know where he might've stood¾"

"No, I don't, he wouldn't tell me!" I was standing now, pacing.

"Well, Vulcans aren't one to share personal feelings very easily."

"That's bullshit." I hissed, then clarifying, "I think he would have told me."

Nyota looked annoyed, eyes narrowed, "What makes you say that?"

"We've been through too much together." I insisted.

"Like what?" She folded her arms over her chest.

"Well, lets see," I say snarkily, counting off on my fingers to my thumb, "He stayed with me through the radiation episode, I helped him through Pon Farr where he smiled for me and me alone. We've melded quite a bit too."

Nyota seemed shocked, which actually pleased me. I copied her stance. "So yeah, I think I'm owed an explanation."

"Yeah." She quietly agreed with me. It was nice having someone on my side for once. "So what're you doing with Bones?"

Shit. All that pleasure just went right out the window.

Her face hardened, "Oh no, you're not!" She jumped to her feet and prodded me in the chest with her finger. "Leonard's my friend, and if you're just using him, I'll kill you!"

"He's my friend too, but… he'll only ever be a friend." I sighed.

"You are scum, aren't you?" She scowled.

"Yeah… love makes you do stupid shit." I mumbled, running a hand through my hair.

"Woah, woah, woah. Wait." Nyota held up her hands, caught off guard again. "Love?" She blinked.

"Yeah." I frowned, "What'd you think it was?"

"I don't know, a fleeting man-crush? You've always been more of a skirt-chaser."

"Says you." I mutter.

"But love? You love him?" Her brows rose.

"Yes, I love Spock, okay? We clear now? _Jesus!_" I plopped back down into my chair.

"When did that happen?" Nyota smiled, sitting back down and leaning across the small table towards me.

So I told her, everything. Of course, I left out the more personal parts so Spock wouldn't be upset. But I started with the very first time I went after him, how he rejected me thinking I only wanted to get ahead in Astrophysics; all the way until now.

Around that time and a whole pizza later; Dr. M'Benga followed by a hover gurney came into the room. They moved Spock onto the bio-bed and switched the controls on, the heart monitor starting up a slow, steady beat. Relief flooded me from head to foot.

Standing, I listen to the run-down from M'Benga. "What's the damage?" I clasp my hands behind my back so I won't worry at them.

"The wound was deep, Mr. Kirk. Luckily we were able to repair the tissue damage in the left chamber of his heart and make amends to his misplaced anatomy." M'Benga listed some other organs that had been repaired, even one that had to be removed and would be replaced if Spock deemed it necessary.

He even took time to explain the functions of those organs, most of them like human organs, just with Vulcan names and different shapes. It was like taking a crash course in Vulcan Anatomy.

"So, wait… you removed the equivalent of the human gull bladder?" Can you function without that?" I glanced at Nyota with a confused expression.

"Oh, yes. Some gull bladders have been removed because they've caused the individual discomfort or there has been a history of disease of the gull bladder in their family linage. It is not a required organ."

I nodded, feeling tapped out and wondering if the biology lesson was over with. "Well, thank you." I looked at Spock tucked into the sheets, wearing one of those medical, sanitary patient robes. He looked so small. The bed nearly swallowed him up in its length and width.

I made a lame attempt at bidding the doctor farewell, leaving it to Nyota mostly. As I wandered to the side of the bed, my throat got thick and I willed myself to keep my level head.

Looking at him; a peaceful, calm expressionless face. I brush his bangs back from his forehead and let my fingertips linger down the side of his face. I felt like I'd broken all my promises to him. I didn't have his back and he got hurt. I was immature and he got fed up. I want to protect him but what gun power do I have? It's hard to breathe, standing here with such a heavy heart. I'll never be able to get up off the ground into space at this rate.

Nyota lets me have my time like this and ten whole minutes have passed before she hugs my shoulder and breaks my silent vigil.

"C'mon, why don't you tell me how you met Admiral Pike?" She drew me back to the table with little tid-bits of conversation, baiting and distracting me from staring dumbly at my latest obsession¾Spock.

We've been talking for about four hours, starting out quietly then escalading to loud, boisterous laughter as we swap high school tales. We must have gotten too loud, for that was when Spock came around from the anesthesia.

Spock

For humans, the first sense to return and the last to leave is their sense fo hearing. But for me, it is my sense of smell. When I wake, I am accosted by an array of smells in varying intensity. The first is, of course, anesthetic, antiseptic and other chemical sanitary agents used in surgery. Then a lingering smell of a meal; pizza perhaps. But the smell I recognize the easiest as it is still most prominent in my mind¾Jim. His distinct smell encompasses me simply and my mind latches on to that one familiar scent and utilizes it into bringing the rest of my awareness up through the lazy surface of my trance.

I hear now, and Jim's loud, pleased laughter fills the room to such an extent that I can actually estimate the dimensions of it just by listening. Another voice joins his, another which I am well acquainted; Nyota.

They seem to be comparing the gruesome aesthetic appearances of each other's so-called 'lunch-lady.' It has become a contest and I am content to listen until I can manage the enthusiasm to pull my heavy eyelids open, having to blink slowly until my eyes adjust to the brighter light so my second eyelid will recede once again.

Jim noticed me first and stood up without a word to Nyota, who was still speaking. She abruptly ended conversation, falling silent and politely averting her eyes.

Jim looked like perhaps he did not trust his vision, then abruptly dropped to his knees beside me and took up my hand, cradling it against his cheek. He gripped my wrist, fearful I would pull away, perhaps. I knew that that was exactly what I should do, but a selfish side of me rebelled against the thought and the hurt it would cause him also detoured me.

Nyota stood up wordlessly and retreated from the room.

Jim's face was hidden by my hand and I made the effort to change it's position. But he took it to mean I was withdrawing and he grasped my hand tighter.

"Jim." I murmur, unable to make my voice louder than a whisper past a parched throat.

He reluctantly lowers my hand back to the bed, but I do not release him, squeezing his fingers lightly. I am touched he would make a point of being here for me, one of the very few who would care to. I wonder if Cadet McCoy knows he is here. No, jealousy is an ugly emotions, almost as ugly as hate. I put it aside.

He is scared, nervous and anxious. Why he is thus puzzles me, "I will be alright, Jim. You should not be afraid." But his fear does not diminish.

"I broke my promises." He murmurs distantly, blue eyes reflecting a pain no one an touch. A torment he's brought upon himself.

"I do not understand." My brows will not furrow for me so I give up the attempt.

"When you care for someone, you make promises to them. Not necessarily aloud, but¾" Jim finally looks me in the eye and I can see him struggle against an urge.

"Tell me." My voice croaks.

Jim leans up and braces his hand next to y head, bending over me and pressing his soft, cool lips to my brow. His cent envelopes me, a visited bliss of mine.

He does not withdraw from his position, speaking instead, with his lips brushing the skin of my forehead. I find it soothing, but his words are the reverse.

"I promised myself that I would protect you from harm and hut. But I broke both." His brow now resting on mine, he closes his eyes as he explains and I watch his face change.

"I didn't have your back this time like I did on Nero's ship. And I deliberately set out to hurt you by dating Bones." Jim's voice is so quiet as if someone might over-hear. A tear suddenly drops from his cheek onto mine and I hold his hand tighter. He does not say anything more, so I reply to the best of my wisdom.

"Jim, you were not informed or requested for this mission, therefore how could you be responsible for my injuries? And Vulcans do not experience jealousy, so your attempt at the impossible is mute." I find it easy to bend the truth in this situation but Jim doesn't believe me.

You're telling me that it did nothing to you when you saw us kissing? Or make you upset that I spent my nights in another man's bed?" Jim looked mystified and watched me closely. He must have seen the way I set my jaw, for he sighed. "Right, well, I still feel guilty."

"I forgive you Jim, for you are no longer my charge."

Jim frowned and sat up, perching on the side of the bio-bed. "So I was only a responsibility to you?"

My brow rose this time; same as my voice, "No, Jim, certainly not."

"Well…for starters, you could give me closure here and tell me why you ended our relationship. But I doubt I'll move on." Jim looked at his hands and smoothed the back of mine.

"I-"

"But before that, I should be completely honest with you." He grimaced, "It's probably going to sound very cheesy and hokey…"

I wait patiently. Taking a deep breath, Jim began:

"You scared the life out of me, Spock. When I saw you bleeding and dying there…" Jim had a hard time saying this. He had to take frequent breaks to gather himself. "I was afraid I was going to lose the only other person I would miss for the rest of my life. Spock," He brushed my hair back from my forehead and left his hand against the side of my face. "I wish it were me in this bio-bed." Jim bent over me again and took advantage of my inability to move. He kissed me firmly, parting my lips and drawing the breath up from my lungs, feeding me his emotions until he broke through the best of my barriers.

Jim's deep, caring affection flowed through me and numbed me to anything else. His withering worry was a sore ache on his heart while hope haunted the halls of his soul. I drew from this great well of emotions and was stymied to find they matched my own. Even the ugliest of emotions I battled on a regular basis appeared and turned Jim's kiss desperate, then lingering. Fear and heart-wrenching disappointment.

"I'm always going to love you, you know. So… why fight it?" He whispers upon catching his breath, his hands remaining on my face.

"Jim-"

"If this is the complete end, will you humor my selfishness and let me… steal one last kiss from you?" Jim's brows pinched like he was in pain, his eyes reflecting deep seeded sorrow. So how could I refuse?

I realize now how much I've truly hurt him. I have never seen him so open and vulnerable as he looks now. I must choose… his happiness depends on it. I know I feel deep emotion for this man, something rare that I've only felt for my mother and something I find hard to control. But this love is on a deeper level. My mother was a key component to my development; Jim? I would die for his sake. I would life, laugh… and yes, love; only for him. If there was an adequate word for this, I would have never been fearful of a relationship with him.

Adoration…devotion…loyalty?

Perhaps in Vulcan: Ndugu…T'hy'la.

T'hy'la; it encompasses the entirety of my katra for Jim.

I have been silent for a while as I thought through this, my processes slower from the anesthetic still in my system. Jim's anguish, meanwhile, has grown in that time, his ocean blue eyes turning liquid as he struggles to prepare himself to accept an answer he believes will rend his heart from his chest. His very being pleads with me not to cleave his soul from him.

"You may kiss me, Jim. But do not let it be in farewell, and don't let it be the last time." I reply.

Jim's overwhelming sense of relief radiates from the wide smile he expresses, the agony in his eyes melting away to a triumphant beaming joy like he has won the universe in a close call. And so I close my eyes and dive head first into what I was trying so hard to run away from.

Jim

I could lay here and totally make out with him for hours. The heaviness weighing down on my shoulders has lifted and I feel lighter than a fucking hydrogen atom. I put myself out there, practically setting myself up for more heartbreak. But it all aided off. No more grey and cloudy skies in Jim Kirk's life.

I reel the physical and emotional strain and fatigue catch up with me though and I part from Spock to catch my breath and regroup.

Spock slides a hand down my side, "You need rest, Jim."

"So do you." I include with a wry smile. "How are you feeling?"

He took a moment assess himself, no doubt, and replied with, "There is no pain, they have me on medication, no doubt. I'm hot and thirsty though."

Spock

Jim blinks, wanting to please perhaps for he gets up and adjusts the temperature in the room and gets a bottle of water from a small civilian replicator. Unscrewing the cap, he holds the water bottle to my lips and supports my head as I drink, my energy extremely depleted.

"Thank you." I watch him take a drink as well.

Jim stood up and walked around the end of the bed and sat down by my uninjured side; looking down. I hear his shoes hit the floor and he leans towards me, bringing his legs up and curling onto his side next to me. I do not need to move or make room for him since this private bio-bed is wide enough to accommodate him and me both. Jim scoots up and slips his arm beneath my head and the pillow. He draws me into his chest, cradling my head in the crook of his arm. Smoothing his hand down my chest, he stops with his hand poised just over my heart, kissing the top of my head and murmuring, "Does it hurt?"

I reply the same as last, "No, Jim, I feel fine." I was satisfied with Jim's cool touch around me, closing my eyes against his shoulder.

Dropping his head down onto my pillow, Jim stretches his legs out by mine, rubbing circles into my chest, combing his fingers through my hair. He knows this sooths me.

I am tired, physically so, and Jim's movements become slow and lazy as well.

"It's okay for you to sleep, Spock." Jim murmurs, his cheek pressed into my hair.

"_Mn._" I grunt, "Stay."

Jim

I'm the awesome right now. Oh yes.

I push Spock up against the wall outside the auditorium, grasping the front of his dress uniform. "God, you were so sexy up there, I can't believe it. Ha! I shook your hand even though we weren't supposed too. You get that thought, you know, of what I want to do to you and where?" I kiss his neck, grasping Spock's wrists and pinning them to the wall.

"Yes, I received your… message." Spock gasps, his head lifted to expose his neck to me. "But I do not think it wise."

I snort, "Why not? She's mine now. We need to christen her." Taking his hand, I tug him away from the shadows of late evening and motion for him to get on my bike. He arched a cynical brow at me.

"What, I'm a safe driver. I got 'er back from Iowa. Missed her too damn much." I climb on and motion for Spock to get on the long seat behind me. Reluctantly, he puts his hand on my shoulder and gracefully swings his leg over the seat.

"Have a little faith in me, eh?" I smirk.

"It's not faith I lack Jim, but trust." He puts his feet up on the running board as I start the engine.

I glance back at him, "Well, you'd better grow some soon since I'll be your Captain by the end of the week." I flash him my shit-eating grin to his arched brow. "hang on." I push up the kickstand and slam the throttle forward.

Spock's arms lock like iron bars around my waist, his face pressed into my shoulder.

I slow to a stop just outside the security gate, flashing my I.D. hologram to get through. When I park the bike a short walk from a shuttle pad, Spock still hasn't released my waist and I'm finding it a little hard to breathe. I pry at his fingers, "Uh, Spock, you can let go now."

His arms slip from around me and I get off the bike, grimacing since Spock looks a little green, you know, more than usual.

"Hey, are you going to be alright?" I reach out and take his arm, assisting him in dismounting. Spock staggers, leaning on me.

"Woah. You okay?" I press a hand to his chest, an arm around his middle, "Okay?"

Spock nods a little, regaining his sense of balance and equilibrium, thought a little shaky on his feet.

"What'd you think?" I grin.

"Worst fifteen minutes and thirty-two seconds of my life, Jim." He rasps. "That machine is a death trap."

Laughing, I take him by the elbow and lead him to the nearest shuttle. Starfleet personnel, mostly night security; mill about and nod to us.

Putting in my access codes to the shuttle, it speaks aloud as Spock and I fall into the helm seats, operating the pilot and co-pilot controls.

"_Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Columbia, Captain James Kirk_." A soft, female automated voice greets.

I grin, running pre-flight checks, "Well, they sure updated my files quickly."

Spock nods, "They are nothing but efficient, Jim."

I take us up off the landing pad and open a channel to the _Enterprise_ to request they open the shuttle bay doors. Bringing the _Columbia_ about, I glide her forward and around to the aft of my ship. "God, she's beautiful, Spock." I murmur, my awe evident and my pride second.

We enter the bay, all easy stuff when the ship's tractor beams do the work and I supervise the landing. The bay doors close but there is no need to wait for the bay to depressurize since we're grounded. But I imagine her up in dry dock by tomorrow.

Spock follows me out of the bay and we board a turbo lift to the bridge, locking the access doors once we get there so none of the night personnel will have access while we're here.

The observation window that circles around bridge's bulk-head is only broken by a view screen in the front of the helm, which now reflects the same view out the windows. Each monitor at every station is on automated diagnosis's and I move to the science station to opaque the windows, which are actually panels of transparent steel two feet thick. Now no one can see in but we can see out.

I stand in front of the floor to ceiling viewport and cast my gaze down over the dirt dock, ignoring the struts holding the _Enterprise_ aloft.

I'm aware of Spock's meandering, viewing the finished repairs and upgrades to the different stations. He makes his way around the bridge and finally gets to me. "She is in optimal condition, Captain."

I can see him reflected in the viewport, our eyes connect and I look at him slyly, "_Mmn_…say that again." I croon, and he arches a brow, tilting his head as he analyses my request.

Finally, he steps closer to me and murmurs by my ear, his breath the only part of him to touch me, "Captain Kirk." He purrs, catching my mood.

I shiver and watch him through the viewport. His dark eyes lock on mine, which glance down as his hand eases around under my arm, grazing up my chest to rest over my heart. I stand tall, shoulders squared, eyes set in commanding, charismatic determination. And Spock's stoic features are reflected a few centimeters higher up. We make a damn sexy reflection, that's certain. "I love you." I whisper, not wanting to disturb the peace of this moment.

Spock draws me back into his chest, turning his head to kiss my temple, "As I love you, Jim." I watch us in the port, tipping my chin up as his kisses travel the line of my jaw. His fingers tighten on the front of my uniform and my Metal of Valor swings upon my breast minutely.

"Commander." I address him sternly.

Spock's reply is a simple 'humph.' His other hand follows the curve of my hip.

"Am I going to have to declare you unfit for duty to teach you a lesson?" I flirt. Suddenly, Spock presses me up against the viewport, using more tooth than tongue on my neck, snaking a finger under my collar and pulling it away from my neck to expose more skin to his hot mouth. I groan. "The lesson to be taught will be taught by me, Mr. Kirk." His deep resonance sends shivers down my spine.

I press my hands and forehead against the cool metal of the window, looking down when I hear the metallic clinking of my belt as he removes it. Spock's hand finds its way past my briefs, winning a moan from me. "God, Spock, yes." I whisper, pushing my pelvis forward into his palm. His other hand glides up beneath my uniform, cruelly teasing a nipple through my cotton undershirt.

Grasping his wrist, I murr as his digits curl around my cock. "Fuck, stroke me Spock, shit... Yes." Groaning, I arch my back, resting my head on his shoulder, turning my head to suck on his earlobe.

I notice him watching us in the window, so I make more noise and writhe a little more, letting my face express my pleasure. Spock's pupils dilate as I bring my hand back into his hair and arch around him in a complete image of wantonness. My brows lift, mouth open in a long moan, eyes mostly closed with a hard on in his hand poking free of my trousers.

Taking advantage of his distraction, I pull his head down, locking our lips together in a hot, firm kiss. Our tongue roll together hungrily and Spock begins his assault, squeezing my shaft and stroking me quickly. My hips buck in an effort to keep up, pleasure spiking at such a fast rate that all I can do is gasp and squirm, squeak and cry out when I cum.

Panting, I slump against Spock, his free hand supporting me around the chest, the other still buried deep in my briefs. He is content to kiss me until I can recover, nibbling on my lips.

Standing on my own two feet, I turn in his arms and pull my uniform off over my head. I smile and Spock withdraws his hand from my pants, licking his fingers clean, an extreme since his fingers are so sensitive. Taking a handkerchief from my pocket, I clean off his hand. "Hey, no masturbating, even if that was hot." He flushes emerald and I grin.

Spock

Jim makes quick and efficient work of disrobing us, leaving our clothes strewn about the steps leading up to the center of the bridge where the gleaming, leather command chair resides. Jim addresses the lights and dims all the ones except primary which lights the center chair and helmsman.

The room is dark except where we stand hand-in-hand before the center seat. "I always fantasized about this, you know." Jim admits, turning me about and smoothing his cool hands up through the hair on my chest.

"I can see why." I look down at him, my hands settling on his hips.

"Oh yeah?" He kisses my sternum.

"There is a certain appeal to this atmosphere."

Grinning, Jim's blue eyes shine at me, "Yeah, there is." Closing in slowly, Jim places a gentle kiss to my lips and lets it gradually grown until his arms twine about my neck, my hands skimming up the slope of his back.

As our lips part, Jim shoves me backward into the chair, a wicked smile I recognize and know to be wary of¾on Jim's face. He climbs into my lap and runs the nails of one hand along my scalp.

I moan, and part my lips for his kiss, eyes closed. I am foolishly distracted and before I know what is transpiring, Jim's slapped his belt around my forearm resting on the arm of the steel command chair. He's buckled it down tightly to the armrest. "Jim!" I pull away and lift my other hand to release myself, but Jim slaps it back down onto the arm of the chair. My eyes bore into him, burning in defiance.

"Calm down Spock, I'm not going to hurt you or leave you here." He cups my cheek but I do not react.

"Release me." I warn him.

"Not a chance." He smirks, "You taught _me_ a lesson, now it's your turn." He pulls my own belt into view. Where he's been hiding it; I do not know.

"I will give you ten seconds to release my restraint." I narrow my eyes at him and Jim chuckles at me.

"Or what, you'll strangle me? I don't believe you."

He's right of course, I will not hurt him. But I will punish him if necessary. "Or you will not touch me again for an entire solar year."

Jim looked at me dubiously, "You wouldn't last that long either. Besides, you'll enjoy this." He assures me.

"I do not take pleasure in being held prisoner, Jim." But even as I say this, he has secured my other arm to the chair tightly.

"Who says you're a prisoner? Lets call you…" He sits back on his heels and taps his chin in thought, smiling, "My special guest."

"Jim, one would not treat a guest¾"

He covers my mouth and shushes me, "We could do this in the cold brig, you know. Might be fun… pretend we're Klingon prisoners and we fuck like mad 'cuz they're gonna kill us tomorrow."

I stare at him. What kind of illogical, twisted humanoid have I gotten myself mixed up with?

He pulls his hand away, "I didn't think so." Jim puts on that crooked grin, "Besides, now I get to explore every inch of you. _Without_ your tendency to push me away."

I swallow, for I know he intends to do just that.

"Just sit back," Jim stabs a button under my palm and the seat slowly reclines from a comfortable 100° degree angle to about 150° degrees, "and enjoy the ride."

Jim is acquainted with the knowledge of my elevated strength and endurance in sex, so he can take his sweet time before he has me at the end of my patience. Of course, we've never tested it before since he tells me when to let go. I have a feeling that there will be little instruction tonight.

He starts by pressing his forehead to mine, running his fingertips down the sides of my face from my temples, purposefully touching my meld points, drawing my telepathy to the surface to meet his mind only to have the connection recede when his fingers move on down my neck. I get the sense that he is testing me, much like he does with his adversaries.

Jim's touch whispers down my shoulders, sketching the lines of my biceps. When I open my eyes, I drown in the cool blue of his intently observing, calmly calculating eyes. My expressions are reflected in those twin orbs; blue scrutiny.

We both note the flicker of my eyelids when his fingers brush the insides of my arms, right at the creases in my elbows. He smiles a small smile, "Heh…don't fight it. Show me." He whispers. He has now reached the backs of my hands, skimming his fingernails down the backs of my digits, letting his fingers dip between mine in full hand contact. My eyes close.

"No, look at me." He instructs softly and reluctantly, I obey. "I want to see the desire burn in your eyes."

My cheeks burn and my fingers curl into fists. Smirking, Jim moves on, pulling his fingers through the hair on my chest, tracing the lean contours of muscles on my stomach and abdomen. It feels interesting. His cool touch leaves a lingering buzzing, twitchy sensation in its wake. Like even my molecular cells are drawn to him. He smiles when I sigh, letting myself drift.

"That's it, relax." He encourages, feeling the skin on my hips only to slide his hands up my sides, his thumbs flicking out over my nipples. I tense in surprise. "Easy…, easy." Jim murmurs, kissing my bottom lip and sitting up, shifting from my lap to the floor, easing his brushing fingers down my thighs and to my knees, parting my legs to kneel between them.

"Jim." My voice is neither warning nor admonishment. But my heart's beat begins to accelerate.

"Shh." He smiles up at me and kisses first my left knee, then the right. His eyes are drawn to my right side and his expression sobers at the sight of my fading scar. He outlines the pale shape of my healing, raised scar and I shift away from his touch. "Does it hurt?"

"No Jim, merely sensitive. It is new flesh." And Jim nods, continuing on in his long torture, teasing my skin with his fingertips and drawing from me small sounds of comfort, surprise and unexpected pleasure. He seems to know every small place and broad expanse to touch, press, nip or kiss. His teeth graze the flesh of my calf and instead of thinking about how odd he looks crouched over my leg, I let myself dwell only on the feeling.

At one point, he deliberately ignores my protests to his next area for victimizing, "Jim, please," I try to pull my legs from his grip but he just readjusts his hold to keep me at his mercy. "Don't." I try for a stern tone but only manage a breathless admonishment. His constant intimate contact has loosened my control and I find it harder to counteract his skillful playing of my senses and keep a level, logical mindset.

I grip the arms of the command chair, gasping when his cool, moist tongue slips up the curved arch of my foot, tickling the pads of my toes, which jerk and curl in response. "Jim!" I strain against my leather bonds, back arching, eyes tightly shut as I try to control the jolt of stimuli delivered to me.

"_Hmmn_, I think you like it." Jim brushes a pinkie finger against my other arch. Groaning, my cardiac muscle hammering in my side, I resist the urge to plead.

"I think our green friend would agree." His lips suddenly skim up the underside of my member, becoming erect as a result to this charade. Jim mounts my lap once more, straddling my thighs.

I find I want him, desire him. But my arms will not move, so tightly bound to the arms of the center chair. My jaw clenches in frustration, putting on an air of defiance. Jim's eyes are clouded with a heady brew of lust and deep affection. We kiss, mouths open and seeking as we let the suspense and anticipation build. Sucking on his tongue, I long to be free, to touch his soft skin and hair. To hold his muscled, lean body to mine. My frustration tightens my chest, and I let it burn through our growing link.

Ultimately, Jim feels my dissatisfaction and pulls away to look at me directly. I swallow my pride and finally beseech him to release me, "Jim, please…the restraints." I know he wants to feel me too, though his craving for the upper hand has yet to be achieved. But it does not take long for him to come to a decision.

Unbuckling the leather belts on my arms, he drops them to the floor and moans as I embrace his waist, hands gliding up his back and into his hair, dragging him back to me to lock our lips in a tangle of fierce appetite.

With practiced ease, Jim guides my erection to his posterior, lowering his chest to mine and sliding down into sitting on my lap, encasing me, sheathing my length within his beautiful body. His bare, fringe-less chest pressed to mine causes passion and strong sentiment to pool in the pits of my stomach. I can feel the elevated beat of his heart through bone and skin, a lively vibration against my chest that assures me of Jim's animated state.

We each voice sounds neither of us knew we could make and the relief of being allowed to clutch Jim to me once again, to possess him; is something I had not realized I had begun to take for granted.

The climax we'd been enduring for ensues and yet we still continue to move in union with hips rolling, arms clinging, lips caressing. Jim's voice rings loud and clear with mine, a tribute to his relief, his pleasure, our love.

Our life.

Our home.

Jim.

Jim

Laying in Spock's arms is like wrapping an insulated blanket around your entire body. With my head on his chest, I watch the rise and fall of his every breath that lifts my head a fraction each time, a lulling action. My eyelids droop heavily, fingers absently curling a lock of Spock's dark hair around and around at the base of his skull.

I look at the forearm closest to me where that arm crosses over to hold me against his side. A dull, green bruise the same width of a Starfleet regulation belt runs across the tops of both forearms. I immediately feel guilty and Spock feels the change in my lazy emotions. "What is bothering you, Jim?"

Taking his arm in my hand, I press my lips to the bruise. "I'm sorry…good thing the uniforms are long-sleeved, huh?" I grimace.

Spock pulls his arm from me and brushes my disheveled hair back out of my eyes. "It is alright, Jim." Brow still furrowed, I force a smile and stroke the skin of the Vulcan's side, tracing the shape of his ribcage.

"James, shall we dress and retire to a more restful setting?" His thumb brushes my hip and I nod.

"Somewhere with a sonic shower, preferably." I grin.

My first diplomatic mission and already, something was fishy about it.

For one, we had not been the ones to make first contact with this species, the U.S.S. _Merrimack _had. But they had returned unsuccessful and sustaining injuries, no less. The federation was reluctant to declare war since the planet the humanoids lived on house valuable resources for the United Federation of Planets.

So they're sending us in, the flagship, the big guns. The only warning I received from Number One being that the Zanorians enjoyed games. And that my career in Starfleet may depend on the outcome of this mission. Not even a month into my Captaincy and they're already making threats and pulling rank.

To top it off, I haven't been seeing much of Spock since he's been puzzling over Zanorian's and the lack of data on them. The science crew aboard the _Merrimack _never actually met a Zanor face-to-face and only have visual information on the planet official's they met on the view screen. This, of course, is a source of fascinating frustration for Spock. So he's been spending all his time fishing data from visual screen shots and drawing conclusions from their inner workings from their outer appearances.

What bothers me is that the diplomatic team on the _Merrimack _did, in fact, beam down and I would trust their science team to the one of the better groups next to the _Enterprise_ to get a good handful of information on the Zanorians. But they claim to have never made first contact officially.

We could be walking into a mine field for all we know. So I make the order to adorn phasers and set them to stun, even though diplomatic missions are generally run unarmed.

In my diplomatic party are two science officers including my first Spock, and lieutenant Phillips. Then there is one communications officer: Uhura; one security officer: Sulu; one physician: Bones; and myself. Scotty and Chekov are to mind the store while we're away.

We orient ourselves on the transporter pads and I glance at Spock, "Be prepared for anything." And I give the order to energize. But no amount of preparation could have settled us for what we beamed down into.

Spock

"Spock, what's this look like to you?" Jim steps closer to me, his eyes darting about our position.

I reach for my tri-corder but finding it missing, have to make a direct assessment, "It would appear to be a camp in the prewar stages of your earth, Captain."

"_My_ earth?" He gives me a look but doesn't have the chance to engage in an argument.

"Our phasers are gone, Sir." Sulu reports.

Jim's lips begin to purse and he looks about, "Seems like the Zanorians enjoy war games. More particularly, our Civil War."

"And we appear to be on the Union side." I pluck at the lapel of my navy blue uniform coat.

"Well, I'm on the wrong side then, ain't I?" Doctor McCoy walks over with a hand on his hat, his brass entitling him as 20th Maine's surgeon.

Sulu has an old rifle, the kind with a bayonet affixed to the muzzle and a stopper pin for reloading. And Uhura is dressed in a ratty, old dress and bonnet.

"The time period seems to be the early 1860's, Jim, and we ware in the 20th Maine's regimental camp."

Jim touches the sword and revolver at his hips. "20th Maine…" He thinks back for a while, "Colonel Chamberlain and the battle at Gettysburg." He looks down at his stripes, "And that would appear to be me."

"And what am I?" Uhura puts her hands on her hips, fury flashing in her eyes.

"A pre-proclamation slave." I reply.

"Captain."

Jim turns to Sulu, who has the rank of Captain on his uniform; and proceeds to outline plans for finding a way to contact the Zanorians. For we cannot even contact the _Enterprise_ without our communicators. We have been cut off from our crew, and the 23rd century.

"Colonel!" A scout has been trying to get Jim's attention for a short interval now and I tap the Captain's arm.

"Jim, that's you."

Whirling around, Jim locates the scout addressing him, "Yes?"

The scout leaps to attention, saluting Jim, "Colonel, sir, a message from the men! Sir!"

Jim casts a glance at me, putting his hands on his hips, "At ease, soldier. Go ahead."

The scout lowers his arm and unfolds from his ramrod-straight posturing. "Well, sir, they're a little discouraged. We're… the end of the line now, sir. Most've lost hope in returning home alive." The boy's eyes are troubled as well and I look around the encampment at somber faces clustered around ashes from fires.

"A suicidal position in war, Colonel. We must not let the enemy flank us." I murmur.

Jim nods, but looks a little pale. "Well, what do you want me to do, kid?" He addresses the scout.

The soldier fidgets a fraction, shifting from one foot to the other, "Well, maybe you could talk to them, sir, raise their spirits?"

Jim looks uncomfortable for the first time in ages. I suppose supporting speeches are only reserved to his crew? "Sure, sure." He looks over at Sulu, but the scout doesn't move. Jim looks at him, "Dismissed." He barks, watching the scout scurry away.

Doctor McCoy is muttering about the medical nightmares of this century; Malaria and amputations, unclean surgeries and alcohol for antiseptic.

Lieutenant Phillips looks upset and so I wave him over with Uhura and take them with me to go and hunt down our… tents.

Jim

"Uh…" I stand on the rise just over a grassy slope, my… men spread out on the ground in clusters. Some under trees passing about flasks, other cleaning weapons.

What'm I supposed to say? A good lot of them will end up dead or hurt by the end of this battle. There is no talking. All is quiet. Some look up at me.

"So you've heard we're the end of the line." A low, discontented murmur rolls through the regiment. I swallow and sense Spock behind me, giving me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "I'm not going to lie to you guys, we're in a dangerous position and we may even fail." I sigh and hear some quiet sobs of despair. "But this is war, gentlemen." I look at the men we took on as prisoners of war refusing to fight, the ones who tired to escape and return home. "You don't have to fight, but you're going to be out there anyway. What're we fighting for here, boys?" I move down the hill, hand on the hilt of my sword. "Peace, equality; or is it lifestyle?"

Spock

I watch from the hill as Jim works his magic in riling the men into confidence. Even the deserters are won over, even if he gave them the shameful option of staying here in camp tomorrow when we moved out.

I have gleaned that we are to keep a defense on Little Round Top, the last bit of high ground out here. If we fail, the 15th Alabama Infantry will flank Union forces and the Confederate forces will be able to attack the Union from behind. We are constructing a type of mote or ditch out of packed earth. I have also found out it is the 2nd of July, 1863.

I tell Jim what I know as we walk back up the hill, my hands receding behind my back. We enter his tent, "So it would seem that any move we make will affect the outcome of this game and what the Zanorians make of us, Colonel." Jim pours himself a stiff drink from a snifter and offers a tumbler to me. I take it. Whisky does not taste pleasing and the aroma is rancid. But Jim downs his glass in one go. I sip mine periodically.

"Well, I kind of remember what Colonel Chamberlin did to win. But it was risky then and it's risky now."

"Jim, have you thought about why the Zanorians chose this war to reenact?" I pour him another drink and perch on the edge of his table strewn with maps and notes.

"Yeah, kind of. What do you think?" He sipped his second drink then set it down, picking up a rolled map and spreading it out on the table to examine.

I look down into my glass as I organize my hypothesis, "I believe the reason for this war is the same for the Zanorians."

"What, slavery? Do you think they do not wish to be slaves of the Federation? Explain."

"In part, Jim, but territory too. I believe they are testing the ideals of the Federation; also currently known as the Union."

Jim moves about the edge of the talbe and takes my drink from me, setting it aside and taking my cap off, running his fingers through my hair.

"Jim?"

"I think your theory stands, but it doesn't fix our problem. We're still going to have to fight this war." His arms fold around my shoulders, his lips parted sensuously and inviting me to kiss him.

"They are watching our every move, no doubt." I disarm him of his sword and revolver, putting them behind me on the table.

"Then they'll also see we aren't adverse to same sex relationships too." He smirks, whispering, "You're too sexy in your uniform to pass up anyhow." Jim presses a hand into my lower back and bows me at an angle, his lips descending on mine, holding me firmly against the shape of his body. My hands move to his shoulders and into his hair, knocking his hat off onto the floor.

"_Mnn._" He moans into my mouth and scatters the things on the table. Maps and papers go flying and our glasses dump into the grass. Jim's sword and revolver fall a short distance to the floor. Jim lowers me to the strategic table and leans down over me, hauling my leg up over his hip. He has four of the six breast buttons of my goat undone before I can stop him, breathless and flushed.

"J-Jim, stop. Not now." I grip the arms of his jacket, the wool fabric unpleasant on my skin. Jim gives my bottom lip one last nip before he relents, reluctantly standing with a sigh and offering me a hand in getting to my feet.

I just barely have my uniform buttoned again when a soldier appears at the tend flap. "Colonel, Major?"

Jim's just put everything back on the table and we both look up from our tasks, having practice at masking guilt for our previous 'hanky-panky.'

"Lieutenant Yates has just returned for a report."

"Alright, thanks." Putting on his cap again, Jim and I follow the Miner outside where a middle-aged man in dusty grey colors of the Confederacy waist.

"A spy." I murmur to Jim just before the man begins to debrief.

"Yankee's General 's got a fair 'mount of caravans still, Colonel." He moved into plans he'd heard being gone over and even took part in a few briefing sessions for the men. Jim listened, no doubt forming plans and counter plans of his own.

"Very good, Lieutenant. I would like you to focus more on the sequence of their movements next time. But for now, why don't you and your horse take a rest, 'kay?" Flashing the man a smile, we parted ways and Jim took me on a round through the regiment much like we would do on the _Enterprise_. We mingled with the men, who seemed to take to Jim with smiles and good stories. I seemed to be labeled Jim's silent counterpart and many good natured jokes we're at our expense.

I return to my tent as the sun recedes behind the tops of the trees and the temperature makes a dramatic drop. It is the beginning of July but the nights and morning are chilled.

Drawing my wool coat around myself tighter, I catch a salute from our spy on his way back out to the Confederate camp.

"Major." He greets, two fingers to his brow.

I nod to him, "Peace and long life."

This seems to confuse him, for he frowns, finally shrugging and moving on.

So my words confuse these people but not my mixed heritage or my appearance? If these are even people. I cannot check for life signs since I do not have my tri-corder.

I light the kerosene lamp on my desk and long for the warmth and calming incense in my quarters aboard the _Enterprise_. Gingerly, I sit down at my desk to meditate, steepling my fingers together and sorting through the events and emotions of the day. Perhaps there is some item I've overlooked that could get us out of this mess and in direct contact with the Zanorians again.

My lamp sputters out and wakes me from meditation. I have been sitting here for two hours and forty-six seconds, the whole amount of my kerosene used up. I shiver, sighing at the sound that had aided in centering me. It rains outside, and not some San Francisco drizzle, but an all-out flash flooding. Luckily our tents are at the lip of the slope and puddles do not form around the mouth of each tent. The trees around us offer some protection, but I still hear the rain drumming on the cloth material of my tent.

I look over at the space through the right side of my tent where Jim's stands; a bit bigger than my own and reinforced. Pulling my hat down low on my head, I quickly jog through the rain, boots sloshing through mud. Jim's tent is dark but I hope he is within. Ducking my head, I push through the flaps of his tent, synching it closed behind myself.

Suddenly, there's a muzzle of a revolver in the small of my back. I raise my empty hands and someone strikes a match. "Jim."

"Jesus, Spock! Gave me a heart attack. You could've been anybody. Announce yourself next time." Jim shoves the revolver into the waistband of his uniform pants, chest bare and open, his undershirt draped with his coat over the back of his desk chair. The match burns out and Jim drops it into an empty tumbler. His hair is damp and disheveled, hanging in his eyes.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asks, "Bones has already come by to complain. Sulu is organizing the ranks of our regiment by candle light in his tent." Jim sighed, "Nothing for me to do but wait for dawn." He looks haggard and I wonder what kinds of gruesome stories he heard from the soldiers. Or what Doctor McCoy told him about the medical tools he was being forced to use. The kind hanging on display in his sickbay, no less.

"It was cold in my tent, and I am out of kerosene oil."

"Oh, you'll have to switch to candles then." Jim motions for me to come closer to him. He takes my soaked cap off and runs his fingers through my hair, dropping my hat onto the desk.

"You're soaked."

I merely nod.

"C'mon." He takes me by the arm and leads me to his cot. It sit down and Jim squats and removes my mud-caked boots one at a time. Kneeling between my knees, he rests his hands on my thighs and lifts his chin to kiss me. Jim deftly unbuttons my scratchy, wool coat, pushing it off my shoulders and kissing my throat. His lips are cool and make me shiver again. "Hmm, c'mon Major, I know what'll warm you up." He pulls my weapons from their hilts and places them on the desk with his sword. But the revolver he keeps, shoving it underneath the mattress. I do my best to ignore it.

Jim pushes me backward onto the cot and lays beside me in the dark, pulling the blankets over us, the scratchy wool quilt between two softer quilts. He rubs my arms and shoulder to get the blood to flow.

"Jim?"

"_Hmn_?" He has one hand up my undershirt, smoothing his palm over the wide expanse of my chest.

"How long does the fighting commence here at Gettysburg in Earth's histories?"

"_Umm_… three days, I think. And that's if they're sticking to history or the outcome rests completely with us." He connects a string of kisses along my jaw, "Why?"

"I do not like it here."

A chuckle, "Nobody does, Spock. That's why it's called war. It's hell." Jim licks the curved tip of my ear, eliciting a soft gasp from me.

"Jim, I have not bathed." I half protest.

"So? Neither have I." He grins. Jim slips a leg over my lap, sitting up and straddling my hips. Smiling down at me, he pushes his hands up my chest, taking my shirt with them. I slide my hands up his thighs and along his bare sides as he leans forward, stretching his legs out behind him.

"How is it that you always excite in the strangest of environments, Jim? Hostile ones or not." I feel the lump in the mattress that hides Jim's revolver.

"You didn't know?" He whispers against my lips, "I'm a little kinky." He smirks crookedly at me and burst into a sunny grin when I blush. "If you're not careful, I might just fuck you on the battle field."

I know he is teasing me, but for once, I am without words to reply. Which only amuses him more.

"Jim-"

"I know, I know. A whole Vulcan ass-load of illogic, right?" He traces the fine, delicate bones of my ears.

"I would not have put it like that, but yes." My eyes close as he soothes me, running his nails over my scalp.

"How about a little stress relief, _hmn_?" He murmurs to me, picking up my right hand and spreading my fingers apart, placing them against his face. Jim looks at me expectantly and I let my telepathy reach out to him, repositioning my fingers on his face.

Slowly, as if in a trance, Jim lays over me and teases my lips with fleeting kisses he makes me chase. His teeth pull at my bottom lip and his tongue dances nimbly over mine. One thing I am fairly certain of is that Jim is a very versatile kisser. He can adapt the smallest of intimate gestures into a kiss that not only makes me wish for another, but makes me even reluctant to ever let him go. Good were the days when we could just lay in bed on Sunday mornings and while the whole day away in each other's close company. But gone are those lazy, unproductive days. There is always something to be done on the _Enterprise_.

Tonight, Jim's kisses are bitter-sweet. In his mind haunts the thoughts of impending injury in tomorrows battle. The morbid thought that either one of us could be killed in the line of duty has intermingled with his trepidations. It also makes him more desperate to feel me in every sense of the word, memorizing the shape of my lips and body.

He has lost the majority of his arrogance and overconfidence in the one month, eighteen days, fourteen hours and twenty seconds of his captaincy. In it's place is calm, competent confidence.

Jim sinks into me within our minds, letting my presence bring him solace. His love is laced with an all too human fear for his and my safety, as well as his four-hundred and thirty-eight crewman and crewwomen in his care orbiting this planet above us. Since we've lost contact, we have no knowledge of their well-being.

"I want you…" He whispers, unbuckling my uniform trousers, pulling my belt free, "to stay as close to me as you can tomorrow. I don't want you out of my sight."

"I will do my best, Jim." I catch my breath.

"No, do more than your best, Spock." He bites the skin of my collarbone.

I feel my trousers loosen, sliding down off my hips. The rain persists outside, whispering through the leaves of the trees. Jim reaches over to the small nightstand erected by the bed, striking another match and lighting a candle half melted on a metal candlestick.

The amber light casts a favorable glow over his face and I brush the limp curls off of his forehead, revealing to me his brilliant blue eyes, now troubled like twin storms. "All will be well, Jim." I murmur, hoping to ease his heart. "Be with me now, T'hy'la." I whisper, maintaining our meld while wrapping my arms about him, pulling Jim close and leeching warmth off of his body.

He forces himself to forget for now, focusing instead on touch and feeling, his hands exploring the length of my body with the knowledge of a veteran, knowing just where to caress, rub, kiss and scratch. He brings us to an easy escape in each other, content to remain anchored together here.

Jim takes his precious time with me, all the while, keeping me warm. By now, we are both dry and the rain outside has begun to lessen. Jim marks my neck, gifting me with a greenish-yellow bruise in the shape of his bite at the base of my neck. I moan aloud when he does so, increasing his excitement with me. Jim drags his nails down my body from my shoulders to my bare hips, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my long underwear, or 'long-johns' as he later called them.

Hunkered under quilts, Jim creates a warm, gentle environment only evermore softened by the dim glow of a single candle. This moment could never be recreated, not even in our dreamscape and we choose not to escape into our memories to recreate a setting of more familiarity.

Coaxing me out of my underwear, Jim leaves over me only to bite my hip, leaving another bruise I find pride in rather than discomfort. "You know, I was never really happy with human women, or men for that matter." Jim chooses to voice his words outside the meld and I relish in the soft tones of his voice.

"Why not?" I reply, combing my fingers through his hair, the other arm propped beneath my head.

"They never kept me interested as long as you have. Your body is different from mine." He trailed his lips down the line of hair leading downward from my naval. "You're more intriguing, and beautiful. I think I always knew I would only ever fall in love with someone from another planet."

He is quite the suave talker, but his honesty rings true and brings an emerald glow to my cheeks and ears. Jim looks up at me and grins, "See? I love it when you do that." He falls silent for a while, and when I head his voice next is after he's slid his tongue up my shaft. "And you're so much more sensitive."

I groan and lift my hips, seeking his attentions. "You express more than you think you do." Jim licks the slit of my cock and makes me see stars among the shadows. He moans as the sensation is reflected back at him through our contact. "It's in your eyes and sounds." He slides my member into his mouth and sucks along its length.

"_A-ahhn_…" I grasp at the sheets and concave my back, hips jerking with the soft squeeze to my testicles.

Jim groans deep in his throat and the impression is strange and new, a vibration. My head lulls to the side, mouth open in short gasps and lustful sounds as he plays me like only he can. I watch the flame of the candle in its death throws, finally smothered in its own wax. The tent is cast into darkness and our meld flares to a new intensity while robbed of one sense. Every intake of breath seems to echo in our ears, the beat of our hearts; his fast, mine faster still.

Applying his skill of deep kisses, Jim brings me to the end of my fortitude. In the dark, I cannot predict or see what he does and every touch is a surprise. His hands roam free over my body, caressing the flesh over my frantically beating heart, sweat dappling our skin and mingling as our bodies brush.

'_I don't want to miss you, ever.' _Jim's consciousness projects this thought to me and I know I feel the same. He is the only one who can possibly understand my complexities. He knows who I am, and he accepts me.

Jim distracts me further and takes me deeper into his mouth, sensing the relief I can no longer deny. His gentle thoughts compel me to surrender, just as his hand cups my balls in preparation for our release.

My eyes roll into the back of my head, closing as I groan both aloud and through our contact. My hips surge upward, an instinctual action, and my see flows forth. Filling Jim's mouth, I shake as I always do after the rush of such strong emotions.

Jim has also found relief vicariously through me, stimulated by his own touch upon my body transferred through the meld. Now he cleans us up with deft, absent actions and quickly returns to encircle me with his arms. How soft his skin is, it never fails to be a source of pleasure for me.

Laying in this cocoon of quilts and Jim's love and affection only reinforces my already fierce desire to keep Jim safe and near. His lips in my hair purr out a string of words directly from his soul: "I love you Spock." He pauses for an interval though and I sense he has more to say.

"I love you too." I wait for him to continue, surprising me again with a slandered attempt at the name given to me at birth.

"S'chn T'gai, Spock." He says in a low voice.

I crane my neck to peer at him through the blackness in the tent. Softly, I repeat after him and make the necessary grammatical and accent changes, "S'chn T'gai."

He smiles, "Ah, I was close." He nuzzles my dark hair. "It's pretty when you say it though, flows from the tongue nicely." He yawns quietly, "No harsh sounds like Federation Standard or Klingon."

I shush him softly, "Rest Jim, tomorrow is not far away." This sobers him and I regret mentioning tomorrow. So I attempt to bring him back to ease and console him by speaking to him in Vulcan, which he expressed he enjoyed. I recite a common lullaby translated both in Vulcan and Terran culture, thought I do have my suspicions of its origin: "Always today; always tomorrow; always forever, my beloved you'll be." Then I translate it into Standard for him and Jim frowns.

"That sounds familiar. Only… isn't it, 'I'll love you forever; I'll like you for always; as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be?'"

I nod, "That was another translation."

He lays in silence then, absently stroking his fingers against my arm; up and down, over and over again. "I think my mother used to read that story book to me. Was an antique or something; prewarp era."

I feel a wash of old sorrow and new pleasure in the irony that I would choose this lullaby to say now¾flowing through our link from Jim.

"How do you know it?" He finally asks.

"My own mother would recite it to me when I was young."

Jim shifts in surprise, his hand stilling on my arm, "No way…for real?"

"Yes." I close my eyes, picturing my mother, her grey eyes bright to match her smile. Her hair covered in the traditional style of Vulcan.

"She was beautiful, Spock." Jim whispers, sharing my memories; my pain.

I press my cheek to his chest and hold him closer still, "Thank you, Jim." I murmur while quietly hinting I no longer wished to speak about it.

We lay in silence, the only other sounds that of the rain outside and the wind in the trees, lulling us into sleep.

Jim

What woke Spock and I was a high-pitched shriek. We both startled awake, limbs in a frenzy as we worked to disentangle each other, still half asleep. Eventually, when we couldn't get free of the tangled blankets and each other, I just shoved Spock out of the cot onto the ground and leapt to my feet, free at last.

Spock was still clamoring to his feet when I was pulling on a shirt and darting out of the tent in my bare feet, knowing that the only woman who I knew here was Uhura and she could be in danger. Obviously Spock thought the same thing, for he was running after me a few second later, only he had the smarts to put on shoes.

Sliding through the mud, I rounded the corner of a tent and ran smack into a flurry of petticoats and long hair. I caught Uhura, who had been thrown off balance in the collision and was now frantically clutching the front of my shirt, eyes wild. She was talking fast and grasping the front of her dress, and I only managed to catch a few words and make a generalization.

"Spock," The Vulcan nodded, obviously lacking the information from Uhura as well. "Check her tent."

Uhura began to calm down and I wondered what could have happened that she couldn't have handled by herself. After all, she was trained by Starfleet. "Uhura, start from the beginning, okay?" I listened as she explained with anger in her eyes, and I watched Spock walk quietly to Uhura's tent and look inside cautiously, waving to me that no one was within.

By now, men had begun to shuffle from their tents, rubbing their eyes and scratching their privates; wondering about all the commotion.

"I was bathing down by the stream and he snuck up behind me." Uhura scowled and started to button her dress.

"Alright…" I take her by the hand and lead her over to Spock, replaying the story to him. "So take her down there with Sulu and a few men and see if the perp is still there."

Uhura looked horrified, "Why do I have to go?"

"Because you can identify the guy, can't you?"

She shook her head, "I elbowed him in the gut and brought my fist up into his nose while he was behind me. Then took off up the hill."

Sighing, I wish I'd never left the _Enterprise_, "Alright, I'll take you to be with Bones then. Report to me when you get back, Spock." I turn and slosh through the mud, Uhura in tow.

They never found the pervert, naturally. Spock returned to camp with wind-blown hair and a simple shake of the head. His cheeks were scruffy from a half day's growth of beard and he just looked down-right haggard. And we haven't even started fighting yet.

Uhura was quick to voice her frustration and did so until I told her to file a damn complaint to Starfleet if she could get a call through to them. I didn't mean to be short with her, for I could tell I'd hurt her, but I was already so close to my short end of the rope.

Spock took her to a safe place by Bone's side in the medical tent and I freshened up best I could and dressed. Sulu was outside my tent when I came out and he handed me a pair of reigns, "This is your horse, I'm told." He grinned, "Isn't she a beauty?" Sulu patted the hide of my black horse, holding the leads to two other horses.

"Who's is that?" I nodded to the dark brown mare shifting on her feet that Sulu was petting on the muzzle.

"Oh, her? She's Spock's." He grinned from ear-to-ear and I laughed.

"I don't know if Spock can even ride. But…guess we'll see in a bit. Are the men organized?"

"Sure are, Colonel." Sulu smiled and handed me Spock's horses' reigns when I'd settled into my saddle.

"Good. Hey, don't suppose these creatures have names?"

Sulu pointed at Spock's horse after mounting his own, "Spock's is named Bullet." He grinned, "And yours is dubbed Hank."

Smirking, I lean forward in the saddle and rub Hank's thick neck, "Awesome." I straighten and give a gentle tug on Bullet's reigns as I squeeze my heels into Hank's flanks, clicking my tongue.

"I'll meet you at the procession, Sulu." I nod to him and ease both horses into a jaunty canter, wrapping Bullet's reigns over the pommel of my saddle.

When I finally find Spock, he's using a flat edge of a knife to shave in a small, cracked mirror by the brook. "Woah." I murmur to the horses, stopping at the top of the ridge before going down to the river bank. Spock looks up and squints to see me clearly through the dawn sunlight behind my head. "Almost done? We've got to move out." Putting the pocket knife into his pocket, Spock stood and dusted off his pants on his way up the ridge. When he got to me, he eyed the second horse dubiously, "I'm to assume that one is for my use?"

"'That one'?" My brows lift, "Spock, It's not a fucking shuttle craft." I chuckle. "Her name is Bullet, for good reason, I should think. And yes, the mar is yours."

Spock slipped the cracked mirror into one of her saddle bags then took a stroll around the animal with his hands on his hips.

"God, Spock." I shake my head, "It's not like she's undependable. Stop surveying her like a project. C'mon," Swinging my leg back over my saddle, I jump down to the ground and join Spock beside Bullet, who's begun to graze on some clover at her feet. "She's a war horse, broken in, probably a little deaf." I reach out and pat her hind quarters. "What do you say? Show her a little companionship, huh?" I crack a smile as Spock arches a brow at me. "She'll be your friend." I smile. "Like that pet lematya you had, only minus the fangs."

"And claws." He adds, tentatively reaching out and touching the velvet hide of the horse. Bullet lefts her head and swings it around to look at Spock, chewing clover. Spock is suddenly riveted to the ground and eerily returns the hors's stare.

Bullet stops chewing and Spock slowly runs two fingers down the vertical line of her face between her eyes. "She is gentle." Spock murmurs, still staring at each other, "She will obey me."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you." I roll my eyes, "But now the trouble is, can you ride her?"

Finally, Spock turned his attention on me, "I am to ride her?" He looked vaguely disquieted by this.

"Uh, yeah, what else would you use her for?" Laughing, I unhook the horse's reigns from Hank's saddle. "But now that you two are bosom pals, it shouldn't be too hard."

"Why are you jealous, Jim?" Spock looked at me with those eyes again and I mustered a frown.

"What're you talking about? She's a horse, what've I got to be jealous of?" Stop being ridiculous, we don't have time. Now, ready for your crash course on horsemanship?"

"Yes, Jim." Spock let me instruct him in putting his foot in the stirrup and let me assist him into Bullet's saddle.

"And to get off, just do the reverse."

"Yes, I think I can figure that out, Jim."

I blink. Was Spock just short with me? "Uh, right." I swung myself up into Hank's saddle and showed Spock the different verbal and pressure commands. "You probably won't use anything faster than a canter though." Tugging hank's head to the left, I gently steered him back towards camp.

After a shaky moment, Spock did the same and feel into step beside me. "She is rather intelligent." Spock swayed back and forth in the saddle beside me.

"You melded with her?" My brows lifted.

"No, she made contact with me." He sounded just as surprised as I looked.

"Wow, wait… you got a telepathic horse?"

"I do not know, Jim. But her spirit almost reached out to my katra."

"Huh, well, horses have always been a source of nature's mysteries to us for centuries." We entered camp and trotted through to the long processional of men on foot waiting to move to the top of Little Round Top.

Sulu rode up to us and smiled across to Spock, "Woah, a natural in the saddle, didn't know you could ride a horse, Spock."

I glanced at him, thinking to myself, _'If he can ride me, he can ride a horse.'_ I smirk and Spock casts me a firm glance. Shit, he must have heard me.

"Unless you do not believe your own eyes, Sulu, I am fairly capable and my learning curve is much higher than a Terran's."

Frowning, Sulu blinked but recovered fast, "Heh, cool. Well, we're ready when you are Colonel, Major." Sulu nodded to us in turn then rode ahead to the front of the line.

"You didn't have to be such an ass about it, Spock. Don't take your anger with me out on others." I Didn't look at him but I could feel his eyes on me.

"I am not upset with you, Jim."

"Sure, sure. Just try to remember that I don't like this anymore than you do, and I'm sure Sulu's just as miserable. I'm just making the best of it. You should too." I snap my reigns and pull ahead at a faster trot, raising my hand to Sulu and waving the line of troops ahead.

Spock

We were not kept waiting long, for once our men were in position, the 15th Alabama Infantry opened fire on us and the fight began. Such a barbaric solution to a problem that only creates other dilemmas and causes needless bloodshed. But Vulcan had been worse than this in our past.

Our troops are arranged rather simply in three rows behind sandbags and wooden spears stuck in the ground at an angle for some defense against a siege. When the first row of men exhaust their rifles between shots and must reload, they drop to their knees and the row of men behind them stand and shoot. By that time, the men in front are ready to fire again and so on and so forth.

Jim and I pace the ranks behind the troops and redirect replacements to fill in holes in the ranks. Medics rush to the front lines and drag the dead and wounded back from the fighting and out of the way. Gunpowder hands in the air like fog and blocks out the hot July sunlight.

I smell blood and block the images of shot and mangled bodies from my mind. Jim was correct in saying war is hell. But Jim does not seem effected, barking out orders and even jumping off his horse to assist the medics in pulling the wounded back from the picket lines. He truly knows how to keep calm in dire situations. He even pulls out his pistol and whirls around to shoot the person who'd shot a young troop of ours in the forehead, killing him instantly. Jim hit another Alabaman in the throat; scowling, revolver smoking. I had not touched my own weapon as of yet, vaguely repulsed by it's function.

Jim

'_Damn, fucking bastards are heartless zombies_._'_ Grasping the pommel of Hank's saddle, I pull myself back up onto him and take aim, closing one eye and pulling the trigger. I shoot an officer in the shoulder and knock him out of the saddle. Quickly, I change position to make it harder for return fire to hit me.

Sulu rides up on my right and reports at my side, "The infantry are pulling rank and regrouping for a more concentrated attack."

"Alright, draw our flank in tighter, don't let them get around us or exhaust the middle or far flank."

"Aye, sir." Sulu disappears into the throng once again.

I pause to take a swig from my canteen but drop it when a bullet hit's the metal and is deflected. Startled, I snatch up my reigns and grip them to my chest, attempting to change positions again.

Suddenly, a sharp pain and a loud _'crack!'_ like the slap of a metal switch slams into my thigh and I gasp in shock, it donning on me quickly that I've been hit.

Spock

I never understood the accounts of those who have been through a crisis and retells it saying time slowed around them. Until now, that is.

I had just turned in my saddle to check the flank of our regiment, now facing Southeast; when I saw Jim get hit. The blood in my veins ran cold and I froze for only a split second, the first thing they tell you _not_ to do in combat training. Then I was vaulting from my horse's back, darting across the whole line of our troops, at least a half mile between us. But it's like the air is as thick as soup and my legs won't carry me faster.

While I'm running, my eyes never leave Jim's form, now on the ground where he's slipped from the saddle. His horse is sniffing at him and nickering.

Jim's curled in on himself, holding his leg, his back to me. A medic has noticed him and now comes to his aid while I'm just struggling to get to his side.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I drop to my knees in the leaf-litter and thrust me way to Jim past a medic. I roll him onto his back and pry his hand away from his thigh where the shattered scabbard of his sword is clutched beneath his palm.

"_Fuck!_ That _hurt!_" Jim hollers, groaning. There is very little blood and my still heart beats again at twice its normal speed. Panting and sweating, I work to compose myself, lowering my face into my hands and letting the medics get Jim to his feet.

One quips, "You lucky bastard, hit your scabbard. Jehovah's lookin' out for you." Jim snorts and puts a hand on the man's shoulder for balance, "Right." He winces.

I clench my jaw and take Hank's reigns, "Take him to medical anyhow." I don't look at Jim when he protests.

"That's not necessary. Spock, I can still sit on my horse, I don't need-"

"You could have broken something, Jim." I snap, closing my eyes, ashamed of the emotion I displayed, "Besides, you have shrapnel from your scabbard piercing your leg."

Jim is silent, so I take it to mean he accepts my logic. But instead, "Spock, I'm fine."

Gripping the reigns of his horse, I control my tone, "I can handle the fighting until sundown, Jim. Go."

And with that, I hadn't he reigns of Jim's horse to the Paige boy, who leads Hank back to camp. The medics tend to Jim and help him back to camp. That was the last I saw of him until the sun sank down behind the trees.

Riding into camp, I am mentally and physically exhausted. Between an abrupt awakening, the scare with Jim, and all the loud noises of battle; my ears still ring with the echo of hearing explosions from rifles and cannons. My eyes hurt from the sting of the gunpowder in the air.

Bullet carries me into camp, tired like myself. She is thankful when I dismount outside Kirk's tent and tie her to the hitching post beside Hank, both horses enjoying a bucket of water and a bale of hay. Patting her hide, I let my gaze wander to the mouth of Kirk's tent.

What will he say to me about my behavior earlier? Will he say anything to me at all? Is he upset with me?

Taking a deep breath, I chide myself for hesitating illogically like this. Jim is my mate… I care for him, so I should not be avoiding him like this. "Jim, it's me." I announce myself like he instructed me too the time I got a revolver in my back last night.

Jim is on his side; back facing me, when I come in. He's just laying there and I listen, craning my neck to look at him as I inch forward. He is asleep.

So I pull a chair out from the desk and set it down beside his bed. And so I set there, watching Jim resting, his side rising and falling as he breathes. Such a simple function yet so very important. So very precious.

I clasp my hands together under my chin to keep myself from reaching out to him, leaning forward over my knees. My eyes trace the ups and downs of Jim's shape, outlining the strong muscles of his back. I long to stretch my hand out to touch and as the light in the tent fades, so does the light glancing off Jim's hair. But it still looks glossy in the dim glow.

After three hours and eighteen minutes, Jim shifts in his sleep, flopping over onto his back, his arm outstretched in my direction, palm up. His chin lulls to his shoulder and I can finally see his face. Long shadows from thick eyelashes reach down his high cheek bones and the masculine shape of his jaw works to balance the smooth, almost feminine skin of his face. A high brow gives him a regal vantage and the straight line of his nose completes the perfect proportions of his features. Lastly, my eyes are drawn to his round, full lips, parted in sleep. My mind conjures up the feeling of kissing those lips effortlessly from memory. But it also betrays me and reminds me of the fear, raw and controlling, that I had experienced just this afternoon. Jim could have been seriously wounded today. My hands clench tighter together, almost convulsively.

My gaze follows the curve of Jim's arm to the shape of his hand at rest beside my knee. His long, blunt fingers are curled partway in over a wide, soft palm. I no longer wish to resist and I timidly allow my first two fingers to skim down the inside of Jim's wrist, over the lighter skin and blue veins hidden just beneath the surface. My fingertips dip into the soft cavity of his palm and the fingers curl inward, trapping mine, like magic.

When I lift my dark eyes again, Jim's blue ones are staring back at me.

"I was wondering when you would show up." He murmurs, voice deep with the effects of sleep.

"I was organizing the men and leading them back to camp when it become too dark." I spoke in a hushed tone like I still wished not to wake him.

"I knew it was you," He squeezed my ensnared fingers in his hand, "'cuz you zap me like a static shock from a balloon. Especially when you're thinking of me."

I flush, "How is your leg, Jim?"

"Were you thinking of me, Spock?" He persists.

I meet his gaze, "Yes, Jim. I was watching you sleep."

He blinked, "For…for how long?"

"Three hours and twenty minutes, thirteen seconds."

He laced his fingers through mine, "My leg is alright."

"May I?" I lift the corner of the quilts atop him and wait for his nod before I pull the blankets back from Jim's leg. He's wearing the usual long, woolen underwear but one leg has been cut away from the ankle to the thigh. The flesh of Jim's thigh is bruised, like a raised welt. Most likely from when the scabbard slammed into his leg and shattered. A few shards of metal and splinters from the scabbard had been extracted from his leg and bandaged. I stare at the discolored spot about the size of my palm and gently lay my hand on his knee.

"It looks a lot worse than it is. I can walk, I'm not an invalid." Jim assured me, propping himself up on his arms.

Shifting from my chair, I sit on the edge of the cot and ease my arm beneath his back, pulling him up from the thin mattress and holding him against my chest, a hand to the back of his head. Jim lifts his arms to twine about my shoulders and rests his head in the crook of my neck. "I'm sorry I scared you." He murmurs, enclosing one set of fingers about the hair at the base of my skull.

I close my eyes and hold him tightly to myself, turning my head and kissing his temple.

"Lay with me." Jim whispers beside my ear. He clings to me and I allow him to pull me down onto the cot. Reaching up, Jim removes my hat and I kick off my boots. He smells of soap and antiseptic, curling himself into my chest, slinging an arm over my side. Pulling the blanket over us, Jim nestles his head beneath my chin.

My hand wanders over his hips, falling to Jim's thigh.

"I'm going to fight with the men again tomorrow." He murmurs.

"Alright. I do not like you will even listen to my protests." I sigh.

"That's correct." Jim presses his lips to the hollow of my throat. "_Mn_…kiss me." He croons.

Lifting Jim's chin, I kiss him the way I know he enjoys, in the manner that makes his heart beat faster in his chest.

Jim

The morning bugle wakes me a quarter to dawn. "Ugh." I mutter in annoyance, burrowing deeper into the blankets and wrapping my arms tighter around Spock's middle. "Make the damn thing shut up." I snarl, squeezing my eyes shut like it'll block out the cheeky tune warbling outside.

Spock shits next to me, sliding his fingers through my hair, "It is time to rise, Jim, if you still fancy joining the battle today."

"Yeah, yeah…I know." Grumbling, I roll away from my Vulcan plethora of warmth and safety, trading it for cold ground and a chilly draft. "Ngh." Rubbing my eyes with my fingers, I stifle a yawn and push myself up onto my feet, stumbling a step forward and wincing as my injured leg supports my weight.

Spock was at my side in an instant, his hand pressed to the middle of my back, "Are you well, Jim?" He asked me urgently and I wave him aside.

"I'm fine, just took some getting used too. Now, c'mon, we've got an army to lead." I rub my hands together briskly and blow on them. It's chilly this morning.

Spock feels it too, for he quickly pulls on his wool coat and boots. W dress and arm ourselves, revolvers and swords; rapiers, mine brand new now.

Spock catches my arm before I draw the tent flap open, turning me to face him, in all of our officer's splendor. Brass and metal gleam off hats, coats and trousers.

"Be cautious today, Jim. Please." He forms his hand to my cheek and draws me in for a lingering kiss.

When our lips part, I nod and straighten his already tidy uniform. "You too." Is all I manage to say before we leave the makeshift security of my tent. We both know that once we leave, we'll both be engulfed in an onslaught of activity.

We each, in turn, put a foot into our horse's stirrups and swing up into the saddle. Adjusting the brim of my hat, I survey the regiment from the top of the ridge. The sky is already a clear blue, not a cloud in the sky. "Beautiful…but no day is a good day for battle." I comment, Spock sitting in silence upon Bullet's back.

Spock

Truly, there is no difference today from yesterday's fighting. Men on either side are equally wounded, killed, and replaced as many times as each regiment has supplies and men for.

Jim yells, gestures, orders, observes and ultimately goes hoarse by mid-afternoon. He is quick to support he wavering convictions of our 20th Maine as we are pushed father and farther up the hill. By nightfall, we have been doubled back against ourselves and our casualties have steadily risen.

Jim is all determination while in sight of the men, but while in the privacy of our own tent, he lets his mask slip. A hollow expression takes its place, a drink in one hand, the other on his hip. Cicadas make a constant clamor outside the tent and nearly drown out Sulu's voice.

"Colonel?" He pulled the flap of the tent aside and my hand immediately slipped from Jim's to rest in my lap.

Jim turned, casting a look over his shoulder at me and sipping his drink. "Yes, what is it Sulu?"

The captain ducked into the tent and straightened, sighing, "I'm afraid I got stuck with the solemn task of informing you of Lieutenant Phillips' injury." He pours himself some whisky from the decanter and slung half the glass into his mouth.

Jim sobered even more, to the point of shock that quickly turned to restrained anger, "What happened?"

Sulu shrugged, "Shot In the leg, like you, only he wasn't protected by a sword's scabbard." Sulu grimaced, "And Doctor McCoy did all he could but…"

Jim's expression melted into bleakness, "He had to amputate?"

Sulu nodded, "And if he pulls through the fever, he'll keep his life. But probably not his career in Starfleet."

Jim sighed, rubbing his temple, "Okay, thanks for coming to tell me."

"No problem."

"Anything else?" Jim drained the rest of his drink.

Sulu finished his as well and put the glass on the desk, "No. See you bright and early tomorrow, Colonel." He said, subdued. Sulu ducked back out of the tent and Jim slumped into his desk chair, bracing his arms on the table top, rubbing his hands over his face and into his hair.

I rise and move to stand behind his chair, kneading his tense and knotted shoulders. Jim smacks a hand down on the desk; hard, making the glasses and pencils jump. "They've taken this too far. One of my crewmen could die here and they're too cowardly to show themselves." He growled.

My fingers pinch and massage the tendons at the base of Jim's skull, watching him go a little limp and malleable under my touch.

Jim's head sags forward and he mutters, "This whole charade needs to end."

"I agree, but currently, we are at the mercy of their war games." I continue to rub Jim's tense and sore muscle until his forehead rests on the edge of the desk. Hauling him up from his seat, I lead him to the cot and sit him and his jelly body down. I remove his boots, coat and pants, unbuttoning his cuffs and watching him flop backward onto the cot, especially tired from making his round through the men.

"I don't feel like we're making any progress, Spock." He whined, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I dress down and blow out the candle on the nightstand before joining him, stalling for an answer to come to mind. "That is incorrect, Jim. We are father along in this battle's history from when we arrived."

"Yeah, but this isn't the actually mission! The actual objective is to make first contact with the Zanorians." He shifted on the tiny cot next to me, slinging a leg over my hip to make room.

"But instead, we're dumped here to jump through all their fucking insane, cruel hoops." Jim grinds his teeth.

"In a grueling war of your planet's past." I point out.

"…Yeah." He mumbles, all the steam in his fury deflating.

Jim

"We're almost out of ammo, sir. And the men are losing more than just their footing." A stout lieutenant stands beside me, looking up as I sit atop Hank, who shifts restlessly on his four feet.

This was what I'd been waiting for. I remembered this from the history books. "How far is a caravan of supplies?" I asked anyway and get the anticipated reply.

"Days up the procession, Colonel. We'll be dead by the time they reach us." The man tugs on his mustache, a habit I find really irritating.

I squint over at Spock in the bright sunlight, sitting ramrod straight in the saddle. We both know what's to happy next. "Fucking suicide." I hiss under my breath.

"What was that, sir?" The lieutenant shades his eyes to look up at me.

"Nothing, Lieutenant. Tell the men to affix bayonets. They are _not_ going to flank us. Tell the left wing of our regiment to attack at an angle and move like a hinge. It will be like a frontal assault with flanking maneuvers. Capture as many of the Confederate soldiers as you can. Got that?"

"Aye, sir!" He pulled up a snappy salute before running off. For once, Spock has no comment, but leans over the chasm between our horses, handing me his revolver.

"There are five of the six bullets within, Jim. Give me yours."

"You haven't been using it?"

"No." Spock put my revolver in his holster and put a hand on his sword. "I find it sickeningly barbaric."

I nod, "Yeah, but it gets the job done." My eyes appraise Spock and I long to embrace him, kiss him for what could very well be the last time. He catches my stare and holds up two fingers outstretched towards me, leaning in the saddle to reach me.

Of course, why hadn't I thought of it? I press my fingertips to Spock's and slip them down the length of his two digits. An electric charge shoots up my arm and my brows knit together. Clearing my throat, I drop my hand to the handle of my sword when Spock reluctantly withdraws.

Pulling the rapier from it's sheath, I squeeze my heels into Hank's flanks and hold my sword aloft. "For victory, men, charge!" And a roar erupts form the front lines as the 20th Maine regiment pours over the barricades.

Spock

Jim rockets forward, galloping for an opening in the ranks to jump clear and join the group in our endeavor. I follow a half step behind, grasping Bullet's reigns tightly and keeping my sword carefully angled.

The 15th Alabama Infantry is confused and startled, but resume shooting as they charge up the hill, having to stop and refuel their rifles after every shot. This is when we capture most of them, as they reload. They do not know our guns are mostly empty and useless, but they do not take the chance.

Jim

I round up two gun-less Confederates and have them join a group being lead at gunpoint up the hill towards our camp. Shots ring out and I grimace when I take aim, only to hear a metallic click when I squeeze the trigger. "Shit." I whisper, putting my revolver to my hip, brandishing my sword instead.

Spock is using my empty revolver as a bludgeon and to threaten a young soldier into complaisance and I can see the left wing of my regiment swinging like a door hinge.

Turning Hank's head, I steer him towards Sulu to get a report when a shot rings out loudly and I flinch. Hank rears, front hooves clawing at the air as he's hit in the flank by a piece of shrapnel.

Meanwhile, I lost my grip on the saddle as he bucks me off his back. Sharp, blinding agony cuts up my leg as my old wound is jarred and my foot explodes in pain, skewered right through the boot by a stray shell. My head snaps back as I hit the ground; blacking out.

Spock

Surveying the barely controlled chaos, I turn in the saddle to get a look back up the hill. Confederates tangled with Union men and some even kill themselves rather than being Union prisoners of war. Such a foolish waste. How utterly asinine Earth's history is, full of absurd feuds and acts of rage that could have been resolved without bloodshed. But Vulcan has much of the same history before Surak opened our eyes towards logic. During my musings, a Bullet whizzes a few millimeters from my head. Instinctively, I duck and scan the vicinity, gripping a handful of Bullet's mane for balance. Then I saw him, experiencing that same paralyzed, powerless dismay as two days ago. Hank was the one who caught my eye, tossing his head and pawing at the ground in alarm. His master laying despondently on the forest floor.

I air not a word but pull Bullet about and promptly steer her in that direction. Soldiers litter my path, some standing, others on the ground, bereft of life or near there, Jim now among their bodies.

We've only two medics left on the field, the rest are dead or injured as well. Pursing my lips, I pull alongside the Colonel and slip to the ground, tugging on Hank's reigns to get him to stop bucking dangerously close to Jim. The horse snorts and knickers at me.

The initial shock has left me, and in its place is pure Starfleet training. I immediately lift Jim and drape him over the front of my saddle, blood dripping from his boot and marring the back of his head.

My movements are quick and hurried for Jim's life may depend on my efficiency. Grasping the pommel of my saddle, I heave myself up onto my horse, grabbing Hank's reigns and urging Bullet into a fast canter. Jim groans as he's jostled and I place a hand on his back to steady him.

Camp seems almost miles away and I urge Bullet a little faster, gripping her sides with my legs to free up my hands so I can shift Jim. I lift his upper body and turn him so he sits side-saddle in my lap, his bloodied head on my shoulder. "Hang on, Jim. Just a little Farther." I sooth him, passing Hank's reigns off to a Paige boy, who comes running up to us just outside of camp. I slow down from here since people block my way, so I send a young boy running up to the medical tent for help.

By the time I reach the makeshift hospital, Dr. McCoy is running out with a few orderlies carrying a stretcher. He barks sharp instructions as I draw up on the reigns and bring Bullet to a skidding stop. Hands reach from both sides to pull and ease Jim out of the saddle and out of my arms. Dr. McCoy gives me an exasperated look as he assesses the damage to Jim's head, then his foot.

"Get him to the operating table." He snaps, then directed at me, "Wait in your tent or something, this is as far as you can go." And he leaves me standing beside Bullet, Jim's blood on my hands and shoulder where his head rested.

Like I was going to leave him here. But what could I do to help him that I already hadn't done? But I also knew I wouldn't be able to enter the medical tent. There would be too many projected emotions and strong scents. It would literally be hell on Earth for me.

I suddenly feel a new sense of respect for Dr. McCoy and his iron tolerance. He would make a wonderful Vulcan if he didn't behave so illogically and use so many profanities. I think I will keep this new revelation to myself, for I do not think he would much appreciate the observation.

By the time I return to Little Round Top and the hazy battlefield, dusk has fallen and the 15th Alabama Infantry are contained and being marched weaponless; back to camp. The men have started to rejoice, picking up a chant. In it, they have named Jim the 'Lion of the Round Top.' He has clearly made a deep impression on the 20th Maine, for a confident glint shines in all their eyes. But their cheer and exaltation is soon diminished as news travels that Jim has been wounded. Even some of the Confederate men look disquieted.

Both Union and Confederate men sit down at camp to dinner, conversation subdued both from exhaustion, worry, and some hostilities towards each other.

Nyota finds me on the ridge outside the officer's tents, unconsciously picking blades of grass and shredding them into tiny, little pieces. Rearranging her skirts, she sits on the ground beside me and picks a particularly long blade of grass, folding it between her two thumbs and blowing against it to make a sharp whistling sound. But all she makes is a muffled, wet whimper. Laughing, she watches me select a piece of grass and perform the same maneuver, producing the desired effect. "You've always been a step better than me, Spock." She smiled.

"Jim taught me." I murmur, shredding the makeshift instrument on my thumb nail. Nyota is quiet before finally squeezing the back of my neck, resting her forehead upon the side of my head. We close our eyes, connecting on an honest, personal level of friendship. Almost a kinship.

"He'll be okay, Spock. His head's too thick for that blow to kill him." She chuckled.

My heart did a somersault in my side when my eyes caught the small boy running up the hill, panting hard when he got to us. Another Paige, probably a nurses' son.

"M-Major?" The young male stammers, making a smart salute. I cannot speak, merely nodding. Nyota releases me and clasps my hand instead. "The doctor's calling for you." His eyes widened and he quipped nervously, "Sir!"

Getting to my feet, I realize that I have never truly been prepared for this event. There is always a chance of Jim losing his life in his position. But I have been living with the blind assumption that he will always make a miraculous recovery. Jim's only human, he's bound to run out of luck at some point.

Silently, I pray that tonight is not his impending unlucky day. Nyota walks me to the medical tent and dutifully pauses with me just outside. "Do you want me to come with you?" She asks. I nod.

The onslaught of fear and terror is infused with a sick smell of death and anti-bacterial solutions. Maimed men lay in beds moaning and sobbing, sleeping and staring blankly at the flurry of medical motion around them. My horror must have been evident in my posture, for Nyota squeezes my hand reassuringly and leads me farther into the Devil's lair. I shudder.

Dr. McCoy is directing a group of men, some minor patients themselves; to pull a man off a bed onto a stretcher. He is dead, a fly landing on his eyeball, another crawling into his vacant mouth. I whip my head away, closing my eyes as y stomach threatens to convulse. Reciting a page from Surak's teachings silently to myself is my saving grace, along with Nyota's firm grip on my hand.

When we stumble into another section of the tent, we see Jim being loaded onto a stretcher and my initial thought is that the is dead and they're taking him away to dump into a mass grave like that other guy. Something inside me snaps, audibly. I lunge forward, a feral snarl filling my ears, realizing it is my own. "_No!_" I growl, gripping the side of the stretcher, trying to reclaim him. Jim's not theirs, not of this place. He belongs in space, with me, not here. He can't be dead.

"Someone wrestle him down, _Jesus!_" A Southern burr shouts, and hands reach and grab, pulling me away. I struggle with Nyota trying to sooth me in the same instant. I snap at her and strain against my captors until Dr. McCoy's face is directly in mine. "_Goddammit, he's not dead, Spock!_" I freeze, eyes wide.

"Now get your fucking hands off my orderlies before you tear apart my sickbay."

I feel the adrenaline drain from my limbs, leaving me exhausted and a little shaky. "We're just moving him to his tent. A better environment for him to recover in." The orderlies return to transferring Jim to the stretcher, carrying him back the way we had come. He is lucky to be unconscious through this.

Dr. McCoy falls into step beside us as we follow the stretcher. My gaze never leaves Jim, even when Dr. McCoy launches into a run down of his condition.

"Now, he ain't critical any longer. Bullet came out relatively easy and he only suffers from a mild concussion. But he'll mote-likely get a fever from shock, but it'll pass." The doctor continues on, giving me instructions of treatment and precautions. "Send for me if his fever gets too high or he develops other symptoms. I'll have Joseph hand around your tent tonight."

Joseph was the little Page boy. "Thank you doctor." I stare at Jim's pale face as the orderlies replace him in his cot.

"Don't thank me yet, we're not out of the woods completely." Dr. McCoy grunts, leaving with his aides.

Nyota embraces my shoulders from behind and I clasp her arm in my hand. I hear her slip outside and secure the flap of the tent. Someone has lit a candle on the nightstand and it casts a sheen on Jim's brow, covered in glistening sweat.

Finally, I move from the spot where I've taken root and summon the Paige, Joseph. After instructing him to fetch a basin of cold water and a clean rag, I move a chair over to the side of the cot.

Joseph returns a time later carting a basin nearly as large as himself. I relieve him of his burden, thanking him. "Is he going to live, sir?" He asks slyly, his eyes flitting from Jim, to the floor and back again.

"Yes, I should think so. You may wait elsewhere, Joseph." I hear him take his leave as I dip the rag into the basin by the foot of my chair, wringing it out. Upon turning Jim's head to face me, I press the cool cloth against his brow, swabbing his neck and chest as it lay open under his ragged uniform shirt. Jim shivers, his chapped lips parting to gasp.

Removing my flask from my coat pocket, I unscrew the cap and support his head for him to drink the water. Most it dribbles from the corners of his mouth and he coughs and sputters. I pull away as he coughs and gasps in one raspy breath after another. He struggles to open his blue eyes, which have paled with his decline in health.

"Spock?" He croaks.

"All is well, Jim." I inform him, my voice my distant than I had anticipated.

Jim grasps my hand with a fierce strength he should not possess at this moment. "Spock…they're gonna kill me at this rate." He coughs, eyelids too heavy to fight with. Extracting his hand from my arm before I bruise, I put the cloth back on his brow. "Do not worry about anything now, Jim. I will take care of everything. You must rest."

"They're going to…kill me." Jim whispers vehemently. He winces, "My head's pounding."

"You have a concussion. I must wake you every two hours. And you must remain responsive for an hour after before you may sleep again."

Jim sighs and I change the cloth, refreshing it in the basin.

Jim

What the hell did I ever do to a Zanorian? I'm pretty sure I've never met one, so how could I have messed around with their daughters, broken a crazy law of theirs, or killed the king's beloved beast? So what reasons do they have to fucking shoot Starfleet in the foot?

God that hurt…karma had better be the real thing, for I'd really like to shoot a Zanorian in the foot, preferably one of the higher ups. See how he likes it.

"Jesus, that's cold shit, Spock." I shove his hand away from my neck to escape that damn cloth. Then carefully succumb to dainty shivers; _not_. More like quivering like a bowl of Jello in a mark eight earthquake. Nearly shook myself right off the damn cot; teeth chattering. Spock's warm hands steadied me, taking my bruised shoulder in a firm grip until the tremors ceased.

Fuck, is it just me, or does everything hurt? It huts to even lift a finger. I mention this and Spock just shushes me.

"Save your strength, T'hy'la." He rumbles, cleansing my brow diligently.

"Yeah, so I can at least run when they send the whole, nut-fucking infantry after us." I scowl but have a feeling it looks more like a grimace, "Oh yeah, can't even do that. Forgot they fucking _shot me in the foot!_"

"Jim, shut up." Spock's voice sounds harsh, unforgiving. So I shut up. He sighs, "I apologize. I haven't had a chance to meditate much and-" He clears his throat, "I have been finding it exceedingly difficult to control my own frustration with these people."

Spock? Emotionally compromised? Shit. And I thought I was the only one who could do that.

Hi swarm palm settles on my brow and I force my eyes open to catch a glimpse of him. "Well get out of here Spock, I promise." But what could I do from my cot? We both sensed this and Spock actually grunted out a sort of gruff sound of amusement.

Smirking, I close my eyes again.

Suddenly, the transporter effect takes us away and I rind myself in the brig of the _Enterprise_. Behind the force field is the one Zanorian I've seen from a subspace communication. I lurch towards the door but my arms don't follow, chained archaically to the wall. The rest of my command team is with me, in the same predicament. "Hey!" I rattle my chains indignantly, gasping at the pain in my foot.

The Zanorian steps through the door after lowering the force field and walks right up to me, anger flashing in his black eyes. "What is your half-assed explanation for our treatment here?" I growl, "On _my ship_!"

The Zanorian's eight-fingered hand clamps to my jaw and forces my head back against the unforgiving metal of the brig; _my_ brig. "Silence, fool, or be silenced."

I bring my knee up into his precious family jewels but receive a shock when my knee cap collides with solid bone. I hiss in pain and the Zanorian's nails dig into my cheeks, yanking my head forward only to smash it back against the wall.

Someone gasps, a male voice curses and the world swallows me into blackness.

A hand shakes my shoulder and I jolt upright. Groaning, the view of my tent shifts dramatically and my stomach turns in nausea.

"Jim!" Spock catches me as I lean over the edge of the cot and heave up the contents of my near empty stomach. Coughing, my breath rattles in my throat and sweat makes my shirt stick to my back and my hair plaster to my forehead. Spock lays me back on the cot and I wince at the ache in my spine and lower back.

There's a lot of shuffling around the tent as Spock cleans up my mess. This gives me time to piece together that everything back on the ship had been a dream. Dammit.

I shift in discomfort, my joints throbbing and my whole body flashing hot, then cold, then hot again. Issuing a pathetic moan, I feel a new set of hands press into my flesh. I jerk away, only to be held down by Spock.

Bones' voice admonishes me impatiently, "Lie still, Jim." A thermometer pokes into my mouth and the blanket is peeled away from my body. A freezing draft sweeps over my skin and I convulse, gasping in shock and trying to curl up to conserve heat.

A set of fingers press into my side and I cry out, clutching Spock's restraining arms.

"His sleep is enlarged, alright." Bones sighed, then swore under his breath. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, change him out of those soiled clothes and keep him warm while his head cool."

My head pounds in time with my heart, which I can hear in my ears. Spock's arms slide under my protesting frame and drag me off the cot. "Joseph, go fetch a clean pair of sheets from the linen tent." The sound of small footsteps receding quickly must be this Joseph fellow.

Spock

He slept only an hour and ten minutes before the shaking got worse and the writhing began. Jim's body would contort and jerk suddenly like someone was controlling his limbs. Then he lost command of his internal faculties, relieving himself without notice. The urine he did expel was of an unnatural shade; red. So I immediately sent for Dr. McCoy, who diagnosed Jim with malaria. Many soldiers were suffering from this P. Falciparum infection caused by a eukaryotic protist of the Genus Plasmodium. Some have already died, and many will follow, as Jim now will if Dr. McCoy cannot return to the ship for his medications. Medicine that would save Jim's life.

Anger and frustration burns in my veins and I feel an illogical urge to scream. Maybe they'll hear me.

I finish undressing Jim and I sit him down in a chair as I use the basin water to clean him. Quickly, I strip the cot and toss the blankets by the mouth of the tent, retrieving the clean sheets from Joseph upon the boy's return. I command him to stay outdoors as Jim may be contagious. The boy believes me, eyes wide. But I know malaria can only be spread through a mosquito bite, so I am safe for now.

Wrapping Jim in a clean sheet, I lift him into my arms and carry him back to the cot. Dumping the soiled water in the basin, I keep it empty for when Jim must vomit. Then I request a fresh vessel of water and a clean rag.

Once we are sufficiently settled, I set the water basin on the night stand and strip off my clothes. I climb, naked¾onto the cot and pull Jim into my arms, his bare skin against my own. Hot only is he blisteringly hot, but his whole physique is soaked in perspiration.

Squeezing water out of the rag in one hand, I cradle Jim in the other arm. A wordless whimper causes my helpless frustration to grow and I softly shush Jim as I run the damp rag over his face and neck.

A long night becomes our fate, hours of listening to Jim battle for every breath, issuing dry coughs that make me wince in sympathy. He drifts between a semi-conscious state and an exhausted half-sleep interrupted by nightmares. His fever wanes, strengthens again, then wanes and continues in this fashion. During the more weaker stages of his fever, Jim sometimes opens his tired eyes to assess his whereabouts and drink some water. I endeavored to feed him a light meal but he could not keep it down.

On one of those more dangerous intervals of Jim's overheated condition, he began to murmur incoherently, pulling at the sheets and shivering in spasms. I rose from the bed to dress and request a fresh basin of cool water from Joseph.

When I returned, Jim lay silently on his cot, his head turned away from me and a hand tucked under his pillow. I paused and sensed his mind with some relief that he had not slipped into a coma. Instead, I believed him to be resting and set the fresh basin down on the nightstand. Wringing the rag out in my hands, I lean over Jim to place it upon his brow and straighten to disrobe once again. Turning, I strip my coat, shirt and trousers off, folding and placing them on Jim's desk. I'm working on the buttons on my underwear when I hear the distant _'click'_ of a 6-shot revolver being cocked. I swallow and turn, lifting my hands and turning them palm outward, raising them to my shoulders.

My eyes take in the sight of Jim, half-raised on one arm with his right lifted and straight. He clutched his loaded revolver in his right hand, his thumb just making the shift from the hammer back to the wooden handle. His blue eyes are dead, blank and a little twitchy. Sweat dapples his brow, upper lip and clings to his limp curls.

"Jim."

He twitches, his cheek spasming. "Stay back. I'll shoot." He growls, voice raspy and gravely from fever and disuse.

I inch a half-step towards him and he adjusts the gun to accommodate, repositioning the muzzle to remain pointing at my head, one eye sighting down the barrel. "Jim, put the revolver down." I speak softly, never taking my gaze off of him.

Jim snorts then scowls, "That's just what you want, huh? Come to take my soul?" His arm stretches up towards me ever farther until I can smell gunpowder and can look right down the barrel of the weapon. My mind races to formulate a safe course of action to accomplish disarming Jim and keeping us both, preferably; alive and unharmed.

"Jim-"

"How do you know my name, huh? I thought we had a deal." His voice becomes urgent, low in volume but packed with personal resolve.

"Steady…" I whisper, for his hand with the gun has begun to shake under its weight. And in his weakened state, I postulate that Jim's time frame for keeping it in his grip is quickly disappearing. With that, his panic will spike and perhaps lead him into a rash decision of action that could cost my life.

"You can't fool me with those ears. I thought we agreed you wouldn't take me until either Spock died or grew tired of me?" His eyes have begun to cloud as he loses consciousness, "You're a … century early." He groans, his hand trembling so violently now that the gun has actually begun to rattle. Jim's finger tenses on the trigger and I drop to my belly as the shot rings through the tent, deafening in the silent night. My ear throb as the bang resounds in my head. I grip the edge of the cot and snatch the gun out of Jim's failing grasp. By the time the doctor and the neighboring tent residents pour in through the tent flap, Jim is already unconscious, laying half off the cot.

I stalk to the desk and flip the 6-shot cylinder out, dumping the last bullet out into my hand and slamming it down on the desk top.

"My God, Spock, what the hell's going on in here?" Dr. McCoy's accented sentence is tinged with upset and frantic confusion.

"A meeting with the devil, Doctor. Best not to disturb us, less you be taken prematurely." I toss him the empty revolver and he makes a clumsy catch of it.

"Always thought you were hiding your true identity." The doctor grumbles, to which I lift and eyebrow and Nyota smirks, shaking her head.

"C'mon Len, we've got medicine to make for Jim." She took Dr. McCoy's arm and pulled him back outside.

Glancing up, I peer out at the night sky from a blackened hole in the canvas ceiling of the tent.

I awoke from a light doze and made a quick assessment of Jim's condition from where I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair by his bed. I had not wished to take my chances of Jim's memory of me failing again while sharing a bed, so I had spent the last few hours of the early morning propped in a desk chair.

Jim's eyes are opening and looking blearily around the tent. His first sentence is a question that I cannot held but smile a little wryly at, clearing my throat.

"Why's there a hole in the tent?" He scrutinizes the small hole in the ceiling of the canvas shelter currently dripping from the heavy summer rain outside. I've placed a tin cup under the accidental leak to catch the precipitation.

"A little unplanned target practice." I quickly change the topic of conversation, "Do you require a moment to relieve yourself?"

After settling Jim back onto the cot, I feel his brow and neck for a temperature. He closes his eyes and mutters a line that worries me, "Your hands are cool. Feels good." He sighs. And indeed, he is still scalding, his body warmer than a Vulcan's.

Pursing my lips, I sponge his brow with the damp rag. I pause and sit back, peering at the small cloth torn from a petticoat and knowing there has to be something else I can do to cool his fever. Jim's stomach complains audibly and I frown, "Are you alright?"

"I've got nothing left to throw up, so I'll be fine." He grumbles, offering me a wearily smile. His blue eyes hide behind his eyelids frequently for the headache he's experiencing mote likely makes any form of light, candle of not; cause him pain.

"Come." I stand and discard the rag in the water basin.

"Where're we going?" Jim wraps his arms around my neck as I lift him into my arms, sheet and all.

"Outside." I am thankful for my woolen clothes as we duck outside of the tent. Jim, flushed from fever, now blushes from mild embarrassment at his indecency.

"Spock, you're going to catch pneumonia out here in the rain." He protests. I choose to say nothing and instead, head for the riverbank. No one is out by the river so we are alone and I set Jim down on a rock. Taking his last shred of adornment from him, I soak it in the creek and return to wrap him in it once again. Jim shudders and clutches at the front of my wool coat.

His teeth chatter a little on the way back the tent but he still leans his head backward over my arm, opening his mouth and childishly catching raindrop son his tongue.

My hair and clothes are plastered to my body when we reenter the tent. Setting Jim on my chair, I strip off my soaked clothes and lay them out to dry while bundling myself up in a dry sheet.

Jim's eyelids have begun to droop again in fatigue. Pressing my fingertips to his brow, I'm satisfied to find he is cooler than before.

Jim

God, it's great to be able to actually think again. Spock's finger tremble against my brow and I grimace in sympathy. "When was the last time you were able to rest and meditate, Spock?" I shiver in my wet wrap¾the sheet.

"Do not concern yourself with those details, Jim. Focus on getting better." He lights a few more candles, more for warmth than light.

I sigh, "Spock, people don't survive malaria out here. Bones doesn't have the right medicine. All I Can do is wait this out." I immediately shut my mouth when I See an unbridled shock of anger flash beneath the surface of Spock's skin. His hands clenching and his jaw flexing as he grinds his teeth. Bu the says nothing, closing his eyes and regaining some sense of control.

"Have Sulu and his men found anything that could s hut off this nonsense?" I ask.

Spock purses his lips, "Jim, we might be forced to believe this isn't a superior form of holographic technology. Lieutenant Sulu has endeavored but found nothing, not even a period of space where events overlap or a flux in the fabric of the smells, sights or audio. I this is indeed, a working hologame of Earth's history, than it is far advanced past what we could detect of imperfections." Spock sits on the edge of the cot, "And Doctor McCoy informed me earlier of Lieutenant Phillip's passing."

This hits me like a blow to the chest and I think of the blond security crewman and the jaunty jokes we swapped in the transporter room before energizing. The drinks we shared in the Rec. room. The picture of his beautiful wife back on Rigel IV, with child no less. Lieutenant Phillips was the epitome of young possibility, and even two years younger than myself.

"Fuck…" My eyes drift shut and I rub my brow. "I'll…have to make a report to his family when-" I trail off and grind my teeth in frustration when I realize I may perish here without even a chance to send Nancy Phillips a communication. Flinging myself onto my back, I grip my sheet fiercely and scream, looking up past the canvas ceiling of the tent at the sky. "You nut-fucking enthusiasts, what do you think you're doing to my crew; _my ship!_" Spock winces and grasps my shoulders, but I wrench myself free from him and drag myself into a sitting position. "You mess with _me_, you mess with the fucking _Federation!_ If this is your fucking brilliant idea of a good welcome, you read the _wrong fucking manual!_"

Spock links his arm under my shoulders and speaks in low tones. I ignore him, fueled by frustration and fury, "We're not the Klingons, we come in _peace_, not _violence!_"

"And you are contradicting yourself with this insane outburst, Jim!" Bones' snarl snaps me out of my violent reverie.

"Bones…"

"Doctor McCoy, I would not be adverse to some assistance." Spock mutters, having wrestled me into an awkward, strained position.

I put up my hands, "Uncle."

Spock's arched brows drew together over his nose, "I do not understand how your parent's brother-"

"It's an expression, Spock. Means I give up." Sighing, I let Spock lift me and help me assume a comfortable position on my back on the cot. "Thank you."

Bones filled a glass with water from the bucket by the 'door.' "Don't be a fool, Jim. Nobody's got the patience anymore." He scolded. "Here, take these. I can't guarantee much but they'll at least keep your fever down and give you a more peaceful sleep." Dumping the misshapen pills into my hand, Bones hands me the glass and lifts my shoulder blades off the mattress.

So Spock's been generous with the details? I cast him a shrewd look. But he just vies me that infallible look of calm. I swallow Bones' concoction with a grimace, "Thanks." I murmur, noting Spock trying to gain some sense of modesty, sitting on the end of the cot and rearranging his sheet about his waist. "Give it a rest, Spock. Bones' seen you from stem to stern when he's operated on you." I smirk and Bones looks uncomfortable, Spock betraying himself with an accidental blush.

The doctor turns away, back towards the tent flap. "Well, I oughta get back to the medical tent. You're not my only patient, Jim." Bones cleared his throat, "Keep me posted through Joseph." And he ducked outside.

Spock stared at me, and his gaze could have chilled old Vulcan. I swallow, "What?"

"Was your comment necessary?" He asked flatly.

"Oh, c'mon Spock. Just because you two have an agreed contract to hate each other-"

"I do not hate the doctor, Jim." He interjected.

"-doesn't make you any different from each other. You've both got the same wedding tackle."

"I fail to see the correlation of my biological assets to that of objects for a recreational sport." Spock gives me that look, so what the hell? Might as well dig my grave a little deeper? God knows I'll need one.

"Believe me Spock, your twig and berries function the same as Bones'. Believe me, I know."

Shit, I'm not even making sense to myself! If only there was an abandon ship setting for my fucking mouth.

"What do you mean by that, James?" His eyes narrow a fraction.

Shit, he used my whole first name. "What do you think I meant?" This is stupid…

Spock stares at me a little while longer then gets to his feet. He dresses in a 'no-nonsense' speed and calls the little Paige boy in to watch over me.

"Why bother?" I snort before he leaves, and I just barely catch the scowl before its gone, along with Spock, who walks off all stiff and professional. But much too stiff to be at ease. Fuck me and my dip-shit mouth…

Spock

Not only did he cause me to elicit an embarrassing show of emotions to the doctor, who I'm sure will never let me live it down; but he has purposefully tried my patience. How very…Jim.

My clothes are still damp and I only get wetter still as I walk through the rain to the medical tent. I find Nyota sitting by a pot-bellied stove patching uniforms and sewing up holes in sheets. She looks up as I enter that small section of the tent that is untainted by emotions and smells, and quickly gets to her feet. Urging me to sit by the stove, she takes off my hat and has me slip out of my coat, which she sets by the stove to dry. Stretching my hands out towards the heat, I sigh softly in relief.

"Ndugu…what's wrong?" Her brows knit together, "Do you wish to talk about it?"

I'm silent for a while, so long that Nyota sighs and picks up her mending again. "Jim picked an argument with me." I murmur.

Nyota rolls her eyes, "Who hasn't he picked one with?"

I drag my gaze over to her and she apologized softly.

"What did he say?"

So I summarize the basics of our fight and finish with, "He is losing the will to live, Nyota. Either that, or he feels there is no hope any longer."

Nyota shook her head, "No, he feels helpless. And nothing's worse for a man like that than feeling like you can't control your life anymore. He picked a fight with you because it's the last thing he feels he has control over, Spock." She squeezed my hand with a tired smile. "We're all feeling like that though. But at least the rest of us aren't dying, right?"

I blink, understanding Nyota's reasoning.

"Face it Spock, he's just scared. And he's afraid to show it because he's still very much that cocky, overconfident farm boy. Also, he probably thinks he's got to look strong for everyone else. Not just the crew, but these men." She gestured to the patients out in the main tent. "And I can imagine he's upset about Lieutenant Phillips…"

I feel an illogical pang of guilt. And I left him alone? Well…in the company of a Paige boy?

Rising to my feet, I put on my now dry coat and hat. "We will find a way out of this situation, Nyota." I touch her shoulder and she smiles.

"Go calm the idiot beast, Ndugu." She chuckled.

When I returned to our tent, I quietly set my hat down when I beheld the sight before my eyes. Jim lay tucked into the sheets, dry ones, and the Paige boy's head rested beside him on the edge of the cot; both sound asleep as the candles burned.

Lifting the little African American boy into my arms, I carried him over to my neighboring tent, thankful the rain had let up. Poor child, probably hasn't gotten much sleep, what with all the excitement generated by Jim's condition. The boy barely even stirred when I tucked him into my cot.

Returning next door, I check Jim for fever when I notice his tiny friend. A small stuffed puppy with cotton and bean innards is bundled into the sheets with Jim, its head poking up over the edge of the quilts. It's a little ratty and its ear flop awkwardly to give it a sorrowful, almost pitiful air. It must be the Paige boy's.

I reach to take it so I can give the most likely treasured toy back to its rightful owner. But Jim shifts in his sleep, nuzzling the stuffed animal and resting his cheek upon its head.

My heart gives a small tug at the sight and I watch him as he sleeps. He looks like a small child. Small in two senses, the most alarming of them being that he is losing so much weight and getting paler, weaker, an thinner.

Perching on the edge of the cot, I brush his limp, tired curls from his forehead, leaning over him, I press a soft kiss to his cool brow. A pair of thin, trembling fingers coil into the side of my wool coat, "Spock…?" He whispers in question.

"Yes, Jim." I retract his hand from my clothes and hold it in my own.

"I'm sorry…I was a…fucking douche-bag." He sighed more than spoke, the doctors' medication producing an effect.

"I understand, and I forgive you." I caress his cheek.

Jim's fingers interlace with mine and he presses his face into my hand. "I'm…I'm-" He seems almost loathe to say it, but finally, "-scared." He whispers so quietly, if I weren't Vulcan I wouldn't have heard him.

I place a hand over his steadily enduring heart and squeeze his fingers, "I know." And I know he is aware of my own fear through our delicate, still growing link. "Rest, T'hy'la, and I will stay with you." I place my fingertips upon his face and slip effortlessly into his familiar mind, hazy with sleep. Easily, I urge his consciousness into what it needs; sleep. His raw neuron-receptors are already massively degenerated and I feel his reluctance of sleep as he fears nightmares. But I convince him there are none and let the tethered line of connection recede as I straighten up. I dare hope this uninterrupted period of rest will strengthen his mind, body and soul.

Jim

It's all gone, everything. The tent, the men, the whole God-damned war. Just poof! In its place, a black hologrid, yellow lines marking off square feet giving the whole planet a checkerboard look. The only thing is, the sky is again filled with stars. And high above us is the wonderful little blinking star that is the _Enterprise_ orbiting around Zanor.

Hope chokes my windpipe until I force it down. This could just be another nightmare. No, savior of a dream. "Spock?" My voice is faint and swallowed up by the vast expanse of flat ground, absorbed by the padded hologrid I'm sprawled out on. I sit up and stare at the old friend I consider my uniform.

Patting my hips, I find them bare of my essentials. No communicator, no phaser. Nothing. Well, not so different from before. But at least they had the decency to bring me here clothed. But where's everyone else?

"Spock? Sulu? Bones?" I roll to my knees, then to my feet with only a small wobble. My head is clear, if not a little confused. My headache, aches and pains, all symptoms of malaria; gone.

"Congratulations and greetings, Captain Kirk" A soft, lispy voice addresses me from my left and I jerk my head around, dropping into a familiar defense position. The creature, humanoid in stature; makes a sound of amusement from a small, sensuous mouth.

"Congratulations?' Anger spikes easily, and with it, the scenery changes into a game of Russian Roulette.

"_No, Captain._" Spock's voice reverberate through the meadow, startling me. The new setting disappears, replaced by the hologrid again.

"Spock? Where are you?" I cast my gaze about but keep my focus on the Zanorian slowly approaching me clad in some type of flow-suit. From the collar of her spandex suit sprouts short fuzz-like fibers that stretch all the way up her…his? Her. _Its!_ Up _it's_ head, growing longer into hair twisted into a style my yeoman would envy.

"Yes, Captain Kirk, I am female. We all are." She looked at me with humor in large, black eyes that reminded me of a shark. I shudder. "And your men are safe."

I take an accusing stance, gazing intently at this being with anger, "Safe? What is your definition of safe? What is the meaning for this treatment?" My voice grows steadily louder, more urgent as I stalk up to the Zanorian, jaw clenched. "Killing my crewman Phillips and nearly killing me!" I pound a fist into my chest, a little satisfied to see the female flinch. "I want answers." I demand in a low tone.

"Please, Captain-"

"Are you Zanor's leader?" I cut her off.

"-no one is dead, Captain Kirk." She motions towards my right and a panel appears and turns transparent. Through it are my bridge crew, including Scotty and Chekov. And lieutenant Phillips, who smiles at me, alive and well. I reign in the impulse to gawk and merely nod at the lieutenant.

"But-" I look at the Zanorian, who now stands directly to my left, "Why? How, not to mention?"

"Answers later, after you have rested." She brushes a six-fingered hand against my arm and nods towards a rectangular door of light sliding open to reveal a way out. Or in, I suppose. "And Captain," She arranged her tiny mouth into a human expression of a smile, holding up her hands with my phaser and communicator in each.

With a seconds hesitation, I reach out and take my belongings from her fuzzy palms. "Thank you." I keep my wary scrutiny on her and back towards the door. Finally, turning, I hold up my hand to protect my eyes as they adjust to the brighter light.

"Jim!" Bones grins from ear-to-ear and claps a hand down onto my shoulder as he takes a reading of my health. Frowning, I look over my shoulder in time to see the door slide shut behind my entry.

"Captain." Uhura smiles up at me from a table where she'd just sat down with Scotty. Chekov and Sulu exchange a glance and Spock steps up to my side.

The room we're in is windowless but adorned with drapes and low couches, flowing fabrics and pillows strewn about. "Been here long?" I murmur.

"About twelve hours and forty minutes, Jim." Spock glances at his tri-corder as three female Zanorians enter the room through an adjoining hall with glasses of some red, thick substance.

"Explain." I ask under my breath and accept the strange drink, as Spock does. We alternate hazarding a sip. Nectar drink of some kind.

"A test, Captain. But not for all of us." Spock licks his lips and holds the glass out for closer inspection.

Lieutenant Phillips approaches me with a drink in his hand as well and flashes me that familiar sheepish grin, "Sorry to worry you, Captain. But I volunteered to be the one to have my holo die."

Frowning a little, I squeeze his arm, "Quite alright, Lieutenant. But I would appreciate it if someone filled me in on what's going on. I feel like the only one who doesn't know the punch line." I muster a chuckle.

"They were testing you, Captain. Heh," Phillips lifts his glass, "Everyone was."

I blink and glance at Spock, "Everyone, Mr. Spock? Is this another Kobiyashi Maru test?"

"It has been revealed that the Federations and the crew of the U.S.S. _Merrimack_ were informed of this and were, indeed, not injured here." Spock will not meet my eyes. A source of concern for later, I guess.

"Not injured?" I'm only more confused and Spock motions for me to sit in the seat Scotty vacates. The Scotsman grips the back of the chair as I sit. Setting my drink down, I wave my hand, "Continue."

"The U.S.S. _Merrimack_ did make first contact, but it was very short a time for the Zanorians requested time to think on our offer to join the Federation. They sent word with the _Merrimack_ to send the best in our fleet with which they could test the nature of our Union."

Spock falls silent and Chekov grins, "So, see sir! It vas all just one big set up from the Federation!"

Looking from the faces of my bridge crew, I gauge their expressions. Some look shrewd, others matter-of-fact. "So they were testing the Federation through us."

"No sir, through you." Sulu corrects, casting a look I can't decipher at me and Spock.

"So where were all of you this whole time?" I glance at Nyota, who sits across the table from me.

"When we beamed down, our phasers were gone but we had our communicators. You were miss, and we followed the protocol for a missing Captain. But a Zanorian, the one you spoke with named Milliamir; she explained everything.

Of course, when we got back to the ship and contracted Starfleet, they confirmed it." Nyota looked about the group, some nodding in agreement. "So we returned to have our minds scanned into a computer tha made us identical holograms. Through them, we could control and experience everything happening in the holodeck but still be outside it. So we were left free to research the Zanorians and their world while they tested you first hand. But most of us stayed here to watch the holovid." She glanced at Spock, who had wandered away to converse with a Zanorian.

"Wait," I hold up my palms, "You could watch what happened on the holodeck without being in it?"

Nyota nodded, "We could experience it if we chose and watch the lives of our holos or that of each others. We ended up requesting a split screen to view all six of us." She counted on her fingers the names of the landing party I had organized for this mission.

I swallowed, "How did I do? Guess I passed, so Milliamir said."

Sulu grinned, "You did fine, Captain." Something about the way he said that and how young Chekov blushed had confirmed it then.

"You ought to rest, Jim. You're healthy as ever but the Zanorians did say life in the holodeck does drain a person." Bones put his instruments away. "Millimir said we could return to our ship if we wished and discuss a shore leave for our crew in a few hours while we draw up the contracts for the Zanor planet's entry into the Federation."

Nodding, I get to my feet and my crew assembles themselves around me for transport. I take out my communicator, "_Enterprise_, come in."

"Lieutenant Bates, sir."

"Beam us up, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir."

Pocketing my communicator, I nod to the three attending Zanorians just before the glittering effects of the transporter take us back up to the ship I'd thought I'd never lay eyes upon again.

Stepping down off the transporter pad, I heed Bones' urging to take a moment off shift to freshen up before the meeting with Zanorian officials. And, that he would organize and authorize the rosters for shore leave on my orders.

"Sure, Bones." I pause, then, "Mr. Spock, walk with me." Turning on my heel, I stalk out into the hall. For once, Spock doesn't have to slow to keep pace with me. In fact, he asks me to slow as we nearly knock down an Ensign.

"Sorry…" I huff, patting the Ensign on the shoulder. Stabbing the code into the keypad by my door, I bark, "James T. Kirk." And the door hisses open. I don't even wait for it to be all the way open before charging into the familiar surroundings of my quarters.

I slap my hand down on the white button on the wall as soon as Spock clears the sensor field to lock the bulkhead fro the inside.

He turns towards my desk but I halt him with words, "How could I've known, Spock?" His shoulders tense. "Hell, I didn't even know I was in a hologame!" Grasping his shoulder, I spine the Vulcan around, forcing him to look at me. "Or that I was having sex with a holobeing."

"It was difficult to watch you suffer." He murmurs.

"Yeah, and now everyone knows. Chekov's such a gossip, the whole damn ship will know within the hour." I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Even if our encounters had not been shown on the holoscreen, our crewmates would have figured it out anyway, Jim."

"Huh? How?" My brows purse in confusion.

"Not only did my holo experience our intimate escapades, but myself." His cheeks colored and he looked down at the delta on my shirt. "No amount of practice would have kept me from expressing some form of… pleasure through the transferred sensations." He cleared his throat. "No matter the company I was in."

My eyes were probably as big as saucers. "Did you…um-" A little smirk tugs the corner of my mouth up, "come in public?"

Spock's brown eyes snapped up to regard me with annoyance, "You take pleasure in my public humiliation?"

"N-No! Of course not, I'm just…curious. What'd you do?"

Spock took a moment to respond, "Well, since our bridge crew had already witnessed our brief encounter in the beginning of the test, there was little to hide. But I considered it none of their business. I endeavored to have the screen shut off but-"

"What?" My eyes are huge again, "Don't tell me they saw it all."

"Your ministrations prevented me from having the strength to move. Once it was known what was happening, thankfully everyone left me alone."

"But not before you were moaning in your seat, right? Fuck." I groan, turning and knocking my head against the bulkheads.

"There is hardly a private corridor on planet Zanor, Jim. And I had little warning before hand. What did you expect of me?" Spock's as green as a fucking fichus.

"Dammit…" I laugh, "I don't know. Sorry you were humiliated in front of them, Spock. But… I guess we don't' have to be so damn careful on the ship anymore."

Spock frowns, "I'd prefer it if our relationship could be kept to the bridge crew only, Jim."

Nodding, I return to his side and take him by the hip, brushing a kiss onto his lips, "Alright, we'll be discrete for as long as we can, Spock. I'll talk to our officers tonight and ask them to maintain secrecy for us."

Spock sighs, "Thank you Jim."

Spock

Our discussion only reminds me of the incident at eight hours and ten minutes into our test on Zanor. I had been sitting on one of the small, low sofas in the room the Zanorians had led us to just outside the holodeck. I was sifting through the data I'd gleaned from talking to and scanning these new beings. That was when a shudder of cold came over me from the holo-effects and I turned towards the holoscreen. Everyone else had been engaged in some form of conversation with each other or our new friends. But now all eyes turned towards the screen as Jim's voice turned from startled in the dark to soft and affectionate, a tone the crew rarely saw or heard their captain use.

"No…" My cardiac muscle jumped into double time discharges in my side as I felt the echo of Jim's cool hands on me like through a mind-meld and I saw what he was beginning to do to the holo duplicate of myself on the screen.

Nyota got up and started searching in vain for an off switch. Mr. Scott turned his head and shielded the side of his head. Chekov squeaked in surprise, his idol doing some not so heroic things to his first officer.

The members of the _Enterprise_ got up and quickly filed outside into the hall as I succumbed to the strong transmissions, feeling Jim like he was with me but invisible. My embarrassment slowly became second to my pleasure and I writhed on the floor in a show of erotic ecstasy seemly brought on by nothing.

When everyone returned, not a word was spoken and I was mostly left alone. Until Jim began to die. Nyota sat with me as we glued our attention to the screen. Mr. Scott kept muttering about there having to be a better way about this. And the Zanorians constantly assured us that no physical harm would come to our Captain. With which Dr. McCoy was skeptical, pacing and yelling.

Now Jim is here before me, and it's like the twelve hours has been twelve years instead. His bright smile adorns his face, even given our embarrassing dilemma earlier. He's no longer moaning in pain or calling out to me while suffering the simulated effects of wounds or disease. Those of which Dr. McCoy had thoroughly and angrily protested saying, "You're torturing him!"

But it was all simulated. Well, except what Jim chose to do, those were effects in the holosystem he introduced by choices.

Jim pulls his uniform off over his head while starting the sonic shower in the refresher. Standing in the doorway, I watch the muscles fluctuate just below the surface of his skin. His broad back facing me, Jim strips off the rest of his clothes and catches my gaze in the mirror.

I am already moving towards him as he turns, my arms locking around his waist and dragging his naked body to mine.

Jim

First things first, I don't even have scars or wounds from the war. Not that I was expecting any. I mean, most things you do on a holodeck remain there. Kind of like Vegas.

But, anyhow, forget that.

"Get naked." I whisper against Spock's lips, my brows lifting and shouting in surprise when he picks me up and sets me on the counter. _Jesus_ he's fast.

Reaching over his shoulders, he yanks both shirts off over his head while I unbutton his trousers, pulling his belt off and hooking it behind his neck, hauling his head close. I won't let this moment slip away, and the heat I see in Spock's eyes tells the same story. His kiss is fierce, slamming my head backward against the mirror. God, it's like Pon Farr all over again, only better, because he's not in pain.

Hot fingers slide up my thighs and curl beneath my bottom, lifting me forward off the 'fresher counter. Raising my arms, I twine them about Spock's neck and groan as our separate bodies collide, his skin desert hot on mine. "Spock," he lifts me again and I push off the floor and enfold my legs about his hips. Panting, I draw back to look him in the eye once more, grinning as he steps into the pulsing sonic shower and punches the shortest, fastest sonic level. The air vibrates and moves around us, lifting the hair on our heads; on Spock's chest.

Crushing me against the wall, Spock's lips make a slow, anticipatory descent on mine, drawing a moan up from my gut and making my cock twitch. _Oh god. _My lips part under his spell and succumb to his soul-sucking desire like honey on my tongue. Finally, he kisses me, mercilessly and wild. I tug on his hair, grasping handfuls of it and leaning into him. He drags his rough tongue across mine and battles me into submission, gripping my wrists and confining them to the wall either side of my head. The shower cycles through red, yellow, then green; shutting off.

"_Nnnh_, finally." I purr, letting Spock drag me out of the sonic shower, out of the 'resher, and into the bedroom.

Tossing me onto the bed, I scramble back a few paces and laugh as he crawls after me, catching my ankle and licking my instep. "_Holy shit_, you're sexy." I gasp, eyes wide when my normally docile Vulcan flips me over onto my belly. "S-Spock?" My fingers claw at bed sheets when his strong hands grip my hips an dpull me back. Escape? Ha, right. I'm toast. Hot, butter…toast.

"_Aahnn…_" My eyes flutter closed when the sweet, warm touch of his tongue meets my inner thigh.

Propped up on my knees, I smirk and show Spock my naughty end, "How's the view?" I strain for a pillow but my hand falls just short of one. "Damn."

Spock's lips breath upon my ear and his arm stretches out to retrieve a pillow for me and tuck it beneath my chin, "It's a little rugged." He replies in his deep inflection.

"Hey, what do you expect? Haven't had the chance to groom the downstairs." I cast a chiding look over my shoulder and fall totally silent when he actually chuckles at me, kissing the base of my spine.

Embracing the pillow to my chest, I sigh and relax under Spock's roaming hands, skimming up my sides and down my legs. I could get used to this, you know, subdominant stuff. And Spock's dead sexy when he's in control. "_Nnhm…_" My eyes close so I can better imagine what he looks like over me like this.

A warm, wet finger traces the straight, ridged line of my spine and father, teasing the sensitive outer flesh of my rectum. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until now and I let it out in a rush, spreading my legs wider for Spock. "Shit." I shudder, the Vulcan cleverly rubbing the loose skin of my testicles. This,…this is pure physical ecstasy.

Tensing in excitement, I try to anticipate his next move. But again, he surprises me by inserting not his fingers, but his tongue; into my ass. "_Ah!_" My nails dig into the pillowcase and my body does this awkward little squirm of pleasured surprise. "_Spo- Ah!_" He loosens me up and slides his hands up my shaft, bringing me fully erect. "_Fuck me_, you pointy-eared tease, what're you _waiting for_? _Uuuhnnm-make me come_," I dip my hips and shift backward into him, "Work me 'till I'm _sore!_" I gasp as his rough tongue rubs my walls.

Then, to add to his cunning, he quotes one of my favorite old romance novels sitting on my shelf; Princess Bride, "As you wish." He purrs, holding my hips to steady me.

"Wait, did you-?" Nope, eh didn't use lube, "_Nhh!_" I grit my teeth and thankfully, I know not to tense up. After the initial moment of discomfort, Spock's cock makes an easy entrance into a body that remembers it well.

I moan at the missed feeling of being filled. Spock's warm body rubs up against mine as he bends low over me, his furry chest skimming along my shoulder blades as he takes the first delicious plunge, making me groan. "_Uhnnn…_" I tilt my head some and Spock catches my earlobe in his teeth. Driving my hips backward, I bury my ass in his crotch and win myself a gasp from his lips, grinding into him to gain a groan.

But he's no novice this time, no longer that virginal professor confused by boiling blood. And fuck, I've taught him well.

He bucks his hips in a show of raw strength, pounding me into the mattress, which creaks with our efforts. I cry out when he thrusts against that certain spot, "N-_Aah!_" My voice echoes in my quarters and I'm glad to have sound proofed walls.

Sweat breaks out all over our bodies and we pick up a fast, desperate rhythm. "_Fuck!_ Yeah, like that¾_Mnnnh._" I purr and moan constantly, easing my arms up to support my upper body as Spock's arm encircles my waist. He squeezes my cock and makes me see spots as he strokes me rather gently, brushing his thumb over the bell-like head and making me groan like a bitch in heat.

Writhing, I whine, "_Harder!_" Just as my back arches and my walls clench around his pretty green gun in my ass; Spock swears loudly in Vulcan, I'm assuming. But not only does he come, he comes twice, his whole body shaking like usual. He groans into my neck as his hips surge forward still, emptying his rapture deep into me.

I'm not too far behind, expelling my load into his hand with one last skillful jerk of his wrist. "_Oh God._" I gasp, chest heaving, shivering under Spock's form.

He releases me and I collapse onto my chest again, arms trembling with their exhaustion. I turn over and drag his lips back up to mine, kissing my Vulcan 'beastie' long and hard, but not enough to get him hot again.

"How about… a little nap before the conference?"

"Indeed, that was the doctor's orders." Spock pulls me into his warm embrace.

"Computer…" I smile, resting my head on his chest.

"Working…"

"Wake us in thirty-five standard minutes." I instruct.

Showered and dressed once again, I straighten the metals on my chest, clad in my dress uniform. Spock stays my hand, "You look fine, Jim."

I glance at his reflection in the mirror and the IDIC emblem hanging around his neck. Chuckling nervously, I run my fingers through my hair followed by a comb as I battle that one unruly curl that likes to hang in the middle of my forehead.

Spock arches a brow, licks his fingers and tweaks the lock into place. I stare at him like he's grown another set of ears. "The mysterious powers of Vulcan saliva. Thanks mommy."

He straightens, chest swelling as he folds his arms behind his back, "It got the desired effect, did it not?"

"Right, well, we'd better get on with this. C'mon," Sighing, I turn out the light and pick up a data pad full of information on the Zanorians we'd gathered.

"Why are you anxious Jim?" Spock takes a leisure step towards the door.

"Aren't you? I mean.. think about it, Spock. Our bridge crew and friends witnessed us exploring the finger facts of life." I pull down the front of my uniform, an unsubtle fidget.

"Do you think they will view us differently because of our relationship?"

"No, I think they'll treat us differently because they saw us fornicating like some pair of bunnies in heat." I scowl.

"Are you embarrassed?" He stood at my side.

"Aren't you?"

"Vulcans do not experience embarrassment." He sniffed.

"Uh-huh, bullshit." I grumble. "I know it's a normal biological function, but it's more easily accepted when exercised between two practicing heterosexuals." I snort, "And I find it hard to believe you're alright discussing it with friends when you blush just talking about it with me." I hold Spock's stare.

"It is not discussed among Vulcans as it is a personal subject."

I snicker, "So how'd you learn about it? Your dad talk to you at that tender, impressionable age?"

"I read about it." He deadpanned, staring straight ahead, posture erect.

I gaped at him, "You _read_?"

He nods once. "No 'birds and the bees talk'? Weren't you curious? Didn't you ever accidentally walk in on your mother and the ambassador?"

I could see his back get even straighter and he looked at me and frowned, "My parents did not copulate."

It's hard to hold in the laughter. God, who knew Spock was so naive in this subject. "Oh yeah? How do you explain your existence? And your father must have gone through Pon Farr just like you at some point and time in his life."

I could have been trying to convince a wall to crumble on its own for all the good I was doing. "I know, it's no pretty image. But you have to understand-"

"Come Jim, unless you wish to be late to the conference and offend the Zanorian officials." Spock spins on his heel and strolls to the door of my quarters, unlocking it and stalking out into the hallway.

"H-Hey, wait up!" I laugh, tucking the data pad under my arm and jogging after his retreating back.

Spock

"We regret the profound disregard of section B of article three-twelve of Starfleet's ideals manual forbidding frivolous acts of fraternizing among crewmen of a ship. Captain Kirk and I apologize for the humiliation and/or discomfort we may have caused among the bridge crew." I return to my seat, tired both from stares and direct thoughts I could feel from our bridge crew. To give them credit, they had not acted out of profession while the Zanorians were aboard the _Enterprise_. But as soon as we were all alone, an unpleasant silence fell over the conference room.

Jim stood and formally addressed the topic of our discomfort, and now opened it up to the floor for their questions and comments.

Nyota smirked and Dr. McCoy folded his arms over his chest. "Right, we won't count on chastity from you two. Not with the animal you chose for a boyfriend, Spock." She rolled her dark eyes at Jim, who gave her a tight smile.

"Ah, c'mon lassie." Mr. Scott sighed and shrugged, "Don't worry Captain, we're not reportin' anything to Starfleet. Your secret's safe with us."

"Thank you Scotty, we appreciate it." Jim glanced around the table at everyone else. The senior crew of the _Enterprise_ gazed back.

"Um, sir?" Chekov made the awkward gesture of standing and Jim motioned for him to sit.

"Yes, Pavel?" He addressed the Lieutenant on a first name basis to cast off the formal atmosphere.

"How…how long have you and Mr. Spock been- ah…"

"Courtin'." Dr. McCoy grunts, his firm glare cast in Jim's direction.

Chekov stammered and fidgeted, glancing at the Doctor and breaking into a nervous smile, "Eh, yes."

Jim gave me a cool look and licked his lips, turning his eyes down to the table. Folding his hands together, Jim leaned in over the table seriously, "About four months."

"Four months, sixteen days, nineteen hours-" Jim cut me off with a frown and shake of the head, for Chekov had begun to pale.

"So…after the Nero Incident?"

Dr. McCoy snorted, "Don't be silly Chekov, _during_ the incident."

Pavel swallowed and dropped his head.

Sulu looked pensive, "Easy Pasha, what's so bad about that?"

Chekov shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "I had thought-"

"Nope, they've been together longer." Sulu grinned.

I arched my brows, as did everyone else around the table.

"Wait, you _two_?" Mr. Scott pointed at Sulu and Chekov.

Sulu beamed, "Two and a half months today."

Dr. McCoy threw up his arms, "_Sweet Jesus_, what's this _tin can_ coming too?"

Nyota laughed and squeezed Chekov's shoulder, who sat next to her and blushed profusely.

"And you were concerned he would be upset his role-model became a practicing homosexual." I lean towards Jim to speak this into his ear, witnessing the birth of a wide smile on his lips.

Dr. McCoy got up and threw his arms around the two mens' shoulders and muttered to Sulu, "Don't break the little feller, m'kay?"

Sulu raised his brows and shook his head with a lopsided grin, "Oh, he's not 'little' by any means, Doctor."

"_Sulu!_" Chekov quipped in humiliation, smacking his lover's arm and admonishing him in Russian. The conference room erupted in boisterous laughter.

Nyota kissed Mr. Scott on the cheek as the Scotsman pointed at Sulu and commanded him to take good care of the young Lieutenant or he'd have to succumb to his punishment.

"Just what does that entail?" Sulu chuckled.

"You'll have to drink me under the table, Lad. Or I'll tan your hide!" Mr. Scott grinned in good humor. Through out this loud exchange, Jim squeezed my hand and murmurs, "The closest damn thing to a family I've ever had, Spock." He smiles, kissing my temple.

"Oh, get a room you two!" Dr. McCoy redirected the attention towards us.

"Don't think I'm not tempted, Bones." Jim teases.

Dr. McCoy purses his lips into a forced smile, "Well, wait until I'm gone at least. I've got paperwork to do, y'all. Happy festivities." He turned and walked out.

"Aw, party-pooper." Nyota smirked, "He's just jealous." She winks at Jim, who gets to his feet.

"Alright, that's enough guys. If there aren't anymore _serious_ questions, we must finish up here. You're all free to take leave on the planet Zanor until further notice."

The officers of the _Enterprise_ all filed out of the conference room, leaving Jim and I along.

Jim chuckled a little, "You know, I had my suspicions. Chekov was always edgy around Sulu on the bridge. Hopefully no longer."

I collect Jim's personal data pad and shut it off, handing it to him, "Lieutenant Chekove and Lieutenant Commander Sulu were pleased we told the crew."

"You mean accidentally showed them."

"They had wished to tell you many time and ask permission."

Jim looks at me with wide blue eyes, "You knew!"

"It is a tad hard to ignore when each smells of one another and have thoughts constantly streaming erotic ideas of their coupling."

Jim smacked my arm, 'Why didn't you fill me in?"

"Why did you hit me?"

"Huh?"

I slap his arm back, "I did not feel it was my place to tell you."

Jim back hands my chest and I return his blow with raised brows. It quickly escalades into a smacking session, each landing a blow harder than the last and faster than before. Jim laughs, "Fucking _bitch fight!_" He wraps his arms around my middle and knocks me over onto the conference table. I roll over and pin him to the cherry wood, breathing hard from exertion.

"Did you…see how cute they looked together?" Jim pants, hooking his feet up under my middle and pushing me off.

He gains his footing just as I roll to my feet. "Chekov's so young…I wonder how it happened? Maybe I'll ask them." Jim grins, catching my wrist and kissing my palm. "C'mon, before one of us ends up unconscious."

"You mean before _you_ end up comatose?" I correct him, a smile glittering in my eyes.

"_Oh-ho!_ Is that a challenge?" Jim crows as we leave the conference hall.


End file.
